


fake it till you make it

by hawkeyed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bro moments galore, Bruce is way out of his comfort zone, Cap needs a hug, Clint is a BAMF, F/M, Jane is the queen of science, Lewis family feels, Natasha will train you to death but only because she loves you, Never a dull moment in Stark Tower, One Big Happy Family, Thor's a big sweetheart, Tony takes in all the strays, and Darcy has no idea how her life got so weird, but she's rolling with the punches, while pulling a sulky supersoldier along every step of the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyed/pseuds/hawkeyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year in the life of Darcy Lewis, in which she (amongst other things): lies to her parents, violates Tony Stark's no-pets policy, gets kidnapped, unwillingly crosses off skydriving from her bucket list, and has the occasional makeout session with a reformed Russian cyborg assassin who could probably kill her ten different ways with his pinky finger. What? She's a magnet for the strange, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=139989355)  
  
Darcy wasn't exactly sure how it happened, to be honest. One second it's mid-semester and she's following Jane to New Mexico for six college credits in what she likes to call Advanced Note Taking and Mother Henning 101, then _BAM!_ Instead of her usual weeknight plans of sneaking up to the roof of the makeshift lab with her iPad to work through her Netflix queue and ignoring the monstrosity that's supposed to be her thesis on what influence social media has on the current political climate (or something?), she's tasering some homeless dude with crazy ridiculous abs who is actually the God of Thunder, a giant killer robot from outer space is leveling Puente Antiguo along side her favorite breakfast burrito stand, evil elves are running loose in London like a plot of a bad Doctor Who episode, and somehow she winds up at a top secret airfield on her way to the Big Apple and the epicenter of SHIELD'S local base of operations that doubles as an energy drink distribution headquarters. It's all very confusing, hush-hush, and _holy Men in Black, Batman!_ , her parents are going to flip their lids when they find out she probably isn't going to make it home for the 22nd annual Lewis Family reunion at this rate.

The first thing nameless agents do upon their arrival via unmarked black SUV is separate her and Jane when they make it not but ten steps past the front desk, however, all things considered, Darcy is relatively sure she's in the basement of basements, who knows how far below the surface world, sitting under the unwavering stink eye of resident badass Maria Hill in all her fearsome glory. Some part of her brain tells her that she should be scared - that it's the only appropriate response in circumstances like this, but in reality, Darcy can't bring herself to be _that_ distressed by the whole situation. She knows SHIELD has bigger fish to fry than one single unpaid intern, no matter how Hill is looking her over, and when it comes down to it, Jane's too valuable to be steamrolled.

"I feel like I should be extorting something from you guys for all this," Darcy finally says, flipping haphazardly through the stack of legal docs in front of her on the table. "You know I never even got my iPod back when you came and raided our clubhouse? I had like four thousand songs on there and carefully constructed playlists for _everything_." Maria gives her a look that just screams 'trust me - I know about your most played _Spice Girls Cure All_ mix, and that you haven't paid for a single piece of music since 1999,' because well shit, of course she probably does.  


"Government agency wants to maintain your silence over matters of national security and that's your only demand? A bit trivial, don't you think?" Hill asks. It almost sounds like a challenge.  
  
_Well. Go big or go home then._

"I suppose the sheer annihilation of my student loans wouldn't hurt either."  
  
Maria skims through a few pages of the alarmingly large file folder in front of her - the honest to god permanent Darcy record she was warned about through school - and scoffs at the suggestion.

"Authorizing an $90,000 expense for an astrophysicist's coffee fetcher is slightly above my pay grade, no matter who her boyfriend is."  


"Eh, I'm sort gonna have to call bullshit on that one," Darcy tells her, wincing as she takes a sip of the god awful coffee another jack-booted thug silently puts in front of her. "I've only been here for like an hour and a half, and I can already see you strike fear into the hearts of men. I totally dig it, by the way. Super awesome. You're like a living Beyonce song."  
  
It isn't necessary a smile that crossed the woman's face, but Darcy takes it as a moderate win regardless and decides to push her luck.  
  
"Can you at least bring up my terms to your pirate commander I've heard so much about, one professional lady to another and all that? Or do I have to invoke the whole parlay thing?"  
  
Darcy jumps at the sudden thud against the wall across the room as Nick Fury shows himself on the other side of what's actually a two-way mirror, rigid and unamused under his eye patch, while a person behind him is obviously choking in horror and is in definite need of CPR. She's about 92% sure she's going to be shot before he threatens her over an intercom with a one way ticket to a place she can't pronounce, but doesn't need a map to know she'd never be seen again and that there's probably no wi-fi. Wouldn't you know it, the rest of her body finally catches up with the small niggling she had easily dismissed earlier, and she picks up the given ballpoint pen at once, signing her name without another word and agreeing to what can only be described as fine print out the butt.  
  
It's a week later when she gets her first letter at her new address at Stark Tower from the Department of Education, condescendingly thanking her for (finally) paying off her mountain of debt in full. Darcy cries in the mailroom in front of at least thirty people, wailing as Jane drags her in a hurry to the elevator by the sleeve of her flannel.

"DOBBY IS FREE!!!!"  
  
The entire lobby stares, security is definitely calling for backup, and seriously, things only get weirder from there.


	2. August

**_i._**   [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/august/set?id=139956711)  
  
Without any warning whatsoever, Jane barges into Darcy's apartment on southwest corner of the 75th floor to introduce her at last to the legendary Bruce Banner on a Tuesday night - Darcy's standing science-free time - and though it would have been great if she was able to partake in such a monumental occasion while wearing pants, she totally wasn't. It's an embarrassing spectacle as far as Darcy is concerned (beyond a doubt in the top five of her most awkward moments _ever_ ), but it's Jane that ends up screeching like a wounded pterodactyl in mid-sentence when the realization hits, trying to shield her guest from the very exposed display.  
  
"DARCY! _COMPANY!!!!_ "  
  
Honestly, it's not how she wants to meet the man behind Mr. Big, Green, and Angry, but to be fair, word through the grapevine is that Bruce has been avoiding the last few team bonding sessions like the plague, even before Thor began insisting that she and Jane joined in. Sure, the meetups aren't anything fancy. There were no trust fall exercises, and all they tend to really do is commandeer Tony's top-shelf liquor and play some raging games of Pictionary, but at what point did this - Rock Band blaring from the television and toy guitar in hand, while dressed down only in a ratty tshirt from Old Navy that's pushing ten years old and underwear with tiny pepperoni pizza slices on them - become the only available alternative to exchange proper hello's? It doesn't seem quite fair.  
  
Bruce looks positively perplexed as he turns around and stares at the ceiling, examining the crown molding it looks like, while elsewhere, her virtual audience is booing and her twenty song megaset goes officially down the drain. Darcy snags the controller to save her progress and shut off the game, wondering if the good doctor is going to Hulk-out, and whether or not she'd at least have time to grab a pair of shorts if the building needs to be evacuated, but surprisingly, he manages to keep it together at the sight of her undignified unmentionables. Jane, on the other hand, looks like she's about to blow a gasket.  
  
"I'm sorry. She does this sometimes," Foster frantically apologizes, throwing her a glare, though in Darcy's opinion, 'sometimes' is a pretty broad term. In her defense, no matter how unstable the woman's indignation makes her sound, she's only been caught in the current position give or take six times. Maybe ten tops, though she stands by her refusal to count the time with Dr. Blake at their former abode, because that one was unequivocally Jane's fault ( _'Working late in the lab tonight, my ass! You brought a date home without telling me! And his tongue was down your throat!'_ ).  
  
Darcy retreats backwards to her bedroom in a slow shuffle to grab a pain of jeans, nearly tripping over her throw rug and bumping into her floor lamp on the way. She maintains the scene as she goes with what dignity she has left.  
  
"I rock harder without my legs being constricted, you know this. It's a proven fact. We made pie charts and everything."  
  
"Yes, okay, we're leaving now," Jane calls back to her, vexed.  
  
Quickly delving into a pile of clean laundry that she's built on a chair at the edge of her dresser (because really, who has time to fold what with supervillains on the loose and the mysteries of space waiting to be solved?), Darcy covers her legs and throws on an oversize knit sweater for good measure and goes to shake Bruce's hand properly before her tiny brainaic of a boss leads him out the exit. She promises him that she'll be sure to wear something more appropriate next time they cross paths, provided _someone_ remembers to knock, and he gratefully gives her a small smile before leaving toward the elevator. Jane follows closely behind, unleashing some rage of her own once Banner is safely out of earshot.  
  
"I can't take you anywhere," she hisses, mortified, cheeks blazing red.  
  
_For real? Th_ _e friggin' nerve!_

"Dude, what?! I live here! Ever heard of a text message?!"  
  
  
  
  
_**ii.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/august_ii/set?id=139976176)  
  
Darcy and Steve have their first movie marathon early on a Wednesday evening, taking over the home theater she wonders if Tony even knows he has, deeming it the perfect place to start as Captain America's newly self-appointed pop culture guru upon the pair's first meeting only several days prior. Complete with a 400+ inch projector screen, a state of the art surround sound system, multiple rows of the most comfortable reclining leather seats, and a popcorn machine as big as her dorm's shower back at Culver, Darcy already knows she'll have a hell of a time parting with the place should she ever have to leave, and is already mentally prepping for a serious Star Wars binge. Alas, she tries to set her excitement aside and remember that tonight is about Rogers.

Over a spread of mozzarella sticks, potato skins, buffalo wings, and an assortment of sweets (the essentials, Darcy insists), she informs both Cap and JARVIS quite adamantly that they need to just jump the shark already and hop right in, beginning with one of the best: Raiders of the Lost Ark. It's hands down her fave of faves, and she thinks that Steve will really appreciate the Nazi face-melting when they get to it, but it had been a hard decision figuring out where exactly to begin in the very wide world of film. Starting with the tail end of the forties where he left off before getting major freezer burn seemed like a reasonable way to go, however Darcy has never been all that methodical and figures why not just blow the man's mind now and keep him interested for what the future holds. It's a full proof plan, and doesn't have her waiting months to show him masterpieces like Big Trouble in Little China and Honey I Shrunk the Kids. A win/win, really.  
  
She settles herself in a chair next to the Captain with a blanket she brought from her apartment and rips open a bag of Reece's Pieces as the film starts, turning off her cell and throwing it out of reach. It's an especially strict rule that Darcy has forever kept, as when it comes to her personal movie watching style, she needs to be (and has always been) fully engrossed in the remarkably scared process. It's a guideline she lets Steve break, what with Avenger duties and all that, but if it weren't for matters of world safety and general heroics, the no phone calls, Facebooking, or pausing to resume hours later decrees would stand. Still, distractions banned or not, when it comes to sharing a classic with someone else for the first time, it stays nearly impossible for Darcy to keep from making sure they're reacting the right ways and the right times. Call it a test of character, if you will. Amazing fight scenes in Legend of the Drunken Master? Your mouth better be on the floor in awe. Plot twist at the end of The Prestige? You _gotta_ be freaking out and your mind completely blown. Andy driving away from Woody in Toy Story 3? If you aren't blinking back tears, consider the friendship terminated, effective immediately. No joke. It's the sort of thing that tells you everything you need to know about a person.  
  
When Darcy takes a look at Steve as the mammoth boulder barrels quickly toward Jones, she isn't the least bit disappointed, and silently commends his feedback. Rogers is practically on the edge of his seat and is totally loving it more than she could have hoped, but later when the credits are rolling their way off screen, he's got this look that she can't quite place. In the most subdued voice, he offhandedly mentions, almost like he doesn't realize he's doing so, that he wishes someone he used to know could be here for this, leaving Darcy feeling as though she's somehow succeeded in interrupting a deeply private moment. She keeps her eyes on him, concerned, and her thoughts start reeling from how scary it has to be to wake up and find that everything and everyone you knew was just _gone_. How much was completely missed over such an outrageously long period of time. How bad it would hurt.  
  
Darcy's heart aches for him down to it's core, and every fiber of her being tells her to throw caution to the wind and do what she does best: push. However awkward, she heeds the advice and forces herself into his personal space at once, the way her dad never failed to do after whatever breakup, rejection, or bad day that had her utterly down and out growing up. It's what Lewis' are known for, after all.  
  
"Me too," she tells him simply.  
  
It doesn't last long, but it's warm and heartfelt, and after giving Rogers a reassuring rub across the length of his spine, he's is looking at her quite graciously when she leans back into her seat with only a moderate hint of embarrassment. She defuses any tension leftover with a handful of gummy bears for each of them, while JARVIS starts their next feature without a moment to spare.  
  
"Stark says that movie sequels are never as good as the originals. Is that true?" Steve asks at last. Before Darcy can even open her mouth to answer, Natasha snorts and is sitting behind them, helping herself to the Twizzlers.  
  
"Stark's an idiot. Temple of Doom is a masterpiece."  
  
  
  
  
_**iii.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/august_iii/set?id=139978908)  
  
Darcy immediately regrets her choice to get involved in Clint's prank war against Tony on Sunday morning, well before the sun even comes up, when she's forced awake and out of coziness of her bed by every single electric appliance, gadget, and fixture going off in her residence on high speed and max volume - and unfortunately, she does mean _everything._ The washer and dryer sound like they're trying to escape from the confines of the wall, her microwave won't stop dinging, the toaster keeps popping up non-existent pieces of bread, while the blender nearly spins itself off the granite counter top onto the floor. Even the sound of her flatscreen is on the verge of breaking the sound barrier as that not-Billy-Mays guy yells about Shamwow's on a constant, mind numbing, loop.  
  
The whole thing is pure chaos, leaving Darcy running barefoot across her wood floors, slipping, sliding, and trying to hit every switch, button, and dial she can think of, in a desperate attempt to get it all to stop, while overhead, the ceiling fans look as though they just might reach a high enough speed to take flight. Somehow, some way, the only thing she's actually successful in is getting five hundred text massages, each high pitched notification adding to the madness unfolding, all reading the same thing: _TONY STARK WAS HERE ;)_

The stunned and appalled reaction several days prior when he realized DUM-E was hijacked to every hour on the hour to spray him down with a pair of fire extinguishers is not remotely worth the migraine she's starting to feel, no matter how many times Barton gave her the _'_ come _on, girlie, it's gonna be hilarious!'_ speech, and instance that it was payback much deserved for the overused bird jokes. It kills her brain all the more when Darcy finally surrenders to the losing battle in her home, seeking out the safety and silence of the common area living room, only to have the myriad of noises follow her. She's got no choice but to vow publicly later that day, at wits end and sleep deprived in the closest supply closet, to never work against a Stark ever again, and just so there's no confusion, Tony tapes a sign on her back for good measure that she's required to keep on the rest of the week. You know, in case anyone else got any bright ideas.

He ropes her away from Jane in his vengeance and into being his personal servant for those long, seven days, which truthfully is almost (sort of) a nice break from the numerous all-nighters she'd been pulling with Foster recently. Well, if it weren't for giving her all the dirty work around his shop, covering her in layers of an obscene amount of dirt and grime, that is. Secretly, Darcy has to admit that she fully enjoys the guy's company more than she thought she would. Stark had great taste in music, if not a bit retro, and he always provides the fanciest of lunch breaks, and lets her play with tools she knows very well that he forbids Jane from even breathing on. The feeling, she thinks, might be mutual, when by the end of her indentured servitude, he looks rather sad to see her go.  
  
"Alright, Lewis. Time for your pop quiz. What have we learned?" he asks the final morning, after she personally completes his breakfast run across town.  
  
"Never listen to Clint, Zeppelin before Black Sabbath but not before AC/DC, never be without a screwdriver, and you've got great facial hair," she says, repeating the basics of Tony's latest rants with a count on her fingers.  
  
"And who do you swear your allegiance to?"  
  
"The only genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist in this tower," she sighs.  
  
"By pain of death?" he continues, gesturing wildly, onion and Asiago bagel in hand. DUM-E looks to Darcy at that with an utterly heartbroken chirp from the Time-Out corner he's been banned to for the ' _absolutely scandalous_ ' part he played in the pranking, but she humors the man.  
  
"By pain of death."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Long live the king," she declares.  
  
"Alright, short round," Stark concedes with a nods. "We're square here. U, show the saboteur out."

Though back in Jane's workplace custody, Darcy makes it a point to still meet Tony in his shop that afternoon with two plates of the priciest sushi in Manhattan, where they conspire together on ways to put Barton back in his place, making plans involving a whole heck of lot of glitter and even more maple syrup.  
  
  
  
  
_**iv.**_  [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=139984931)

It's past ten on Wednesday night when Darcy realizes that she might have gone slightly overboard, finally stopping for a moment to take a good look at enough cookies and peanut brittle cooling on the kitchen counter to feed an small army. She still has five different kinds of pies cooking in the oven, and seriously, she's trying to hardest to keep a lid on it, but as it stands, the team has been for two days and sixteen hours now and for better or worse, baking is how she copes with things when she gets anxious. It's a time honored tradition she's developed since her high school years when the overload of classes and petty teenage drama would get the best of her, though these days, things are a little more out of the ordinary.  
  
Despite how it may seem, this wasn't Darcy's first rodeo while living in Stark Tower, actually having gone through at least fifty red alerts thus far. Problem is, on the last go round, she made the massive mistake of having JARVIS stream live footage to her tablet, just in time to see Clint take a bullet to the shoulder and Steve fall several stories off an office building in downtown Miami during a fight against a group of localized mercenaries. Darcy's no stranger to the fight - not since the day Thor came into her life - but viewing the unfiltered action against her new friends has made her increasingly frazzled to say the least. Making a Mount Everest of sweets is the only thing that's able to ease her mind in the middle of wondering if each of them would make it back home safely.

As the clock ticks by and day three approaches, she's moved onto muffins, but as her latest pan of the apple variety finishes, Darcy takes a deep breath and forces herself to put the chocolate chips back in the pantry, leaving them for another inevitable crisis. Instead, she plops down on the corner lounger in the common area to distract herself with some Kitchen Nightmares, making it through only a couple episodes until she falls asleep with her sudoku book covering her face. Her pencil is long gone and Chef Ramsey is losing it over an uncooked filet mignon and frozen asparagus when Tony's friendly, neighborhood AI wakes her up with news that everyone has returned in fine condition at just about five in the morning.  
  
It's a breakfast of champions as they wind down together and feast on the junk food for a solid hour before dispersing (compliments to Darcy all around), but Thor takes it upon himself to walk her back to her room after telling Jane he'd see her back in their quarters shortly.

"We worried you this outing. More so than you've been for us before," he says as they step off the elevator onto her floor, linking their arms together. Ever the perceptive thunder god, it's not a question. "I do not mean to say that your misgivings are ill placed, but you should know, the burden of fear you carry for the lives of six warriors will prove to be a most heavy one."   
  
She drags her feet along the carpet, feeling rather foolish now that everything was said and done, and that she'd cleared the tower out of all available sugar and vanilla extract.

"Are you trying to tell me to take it easy and let you guys do your thing?" she asks.

"I am."

"It's just... difficult. You know? Seeing you guys out there and not being able to do anything myself, except sit around and stress bake."

"The delicacies you make are indeed wonderful, but you do more than you realize, Darcy," he tells her, warmly. "I count you as a vital member of our company, as do the others." The words give her the relief she's looking for, and coming from the person next to her, they mean all the more. He's the brother she has always wanted, and forever the reigning royalty of pep talks, like a motivational poster, loyal labrador, Disney prince, and pure sunshine all rolled into one perfect, muscly entity. Alien or not, there's no one else on the planet that makes her feel as valued or constantly welcomes her with open arms.  
  
"From here on out, I shall endeavor to be as cool as a cucumber. Scouts honor," she tells him, giving a formal salute as they reach her door. She's already feeling better than she has all week, despite the too many pastries she's no doubt eaten, but for good measure, Thor quickly pulls her into a humongous hug, picking her straight up off the ground like she doesn't weigh a thing. Did she mention that he's also the king of hugs? Because he totally is.

"Truly, I am overjoyed you're here with us, my lightning sister," he tells her cheerfully, setting her back on her feet.

"So am I, big guy."

And, goodness, does she mean it.  
  
  
  
  
_**v.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/august/set?id=139974896)  
  
Darcy is heading up the rear of the pack, as she, Jane, Pepper, and the rest of her avenging cohorts leave a charity benefit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, just after midnight on a Saturday, while simultaneously updating her Facebook status in excitement over miraculously and momentarily being in the same room as her childhood idol, _the_ Julie Andrews, and one of her favorite van Gogh works, 'Wheat Field with Cypresses.' She writes that it just so happens to be a random NYC occurrence, but technically speaking, it's an event that she was even invited to. Not surprising, one of the great things about having superheroes as your co-pilots is that the rules don't usually apply.  
  
They're going out the back of the building to avoid being photographed by the press and the paps that are still camped out, but approximately eight seconds after stepping into the night, she's being mugged by some dude running by in a black hoodie with a bandanna covering half his face, and well, great evening aside, it's one of those things that just kills the mood. The jerk pushes her hard against the building's rough exterior, giving her a pair of scraped palms as he grabs her cellphone and clutch, but when Darcy sees is the rip on the side of her Zuhair Murad rental that nearly costs more than her first car, she goes ballistic.  
  
" _WHAT! THE! HELL!!!!_ "  
  
Checking out the damage done to the embroidered burgundy material, she doesn't immediately register that Rogers is in full-on Captain America mode, chasing the perp down the alley, but when she does, _my goodness_. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn't be so outrageously hot, but _yikes_ , it really is. It's too dark to see what's going on in the distance, not that it's remotely a contest, but she hears garbage cans crashing to the ground, somebody is definitely groaning for help, and Tony's rolling his eyes as he leans against their limo once he and the others make sure she's all in one piece.  
  
Steve's got a hold a boy who can't be older than seventeen by the back of the neck when he returns her belongings, and he's totally wearing his finest frown of disappointment when they stop in front of her. If Darcy were more of a woman, she would be ashamed to admit that she's kinda swooning, as nobody has ever defended her honor (iPhone/purse) like this before. She might even be inclined to feel bad for the kid for unknowingly picking a fight with a certified supersoldier. But that's a strong if.  
  
"Apologize. _Now,_ " Rogers demands with a shove.

"I'm-I'm sorry," the kid stutters. "Really. I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again! Ever! I swear, I swear on my life."  
  
She thinks he might pee himself in a second, which in itself is hilarious, but Darcy is practically on the ground in a fit a laughter when Cap hands the youngster over to the event staff and poor delinquent begs them not to call his mom. Better still, in commemoration of the night, the group takes her out for late-night celebratory ' _you've just survived your first genuine NYC assault_ ' Belgian waffles at a tiny diner that has the best homemade blueberry syrup she's ever tasted, and hashbrowns that are to die for.  
  
When Darcy wakes up the next day, after a much needed lie-in, she finds a replacement garment is hanging outside her apartment door with an envelope attached. There's a check inside which covers more than the expense she was going to be out for the ruined gown, and a short note written on a sheet of personalized Stark Industries stationary.  
  
_I might not have rundown the guy, but I'm doing a civil service in making sure you wear this again._  
_Purely professional. No hugs next time we meet or you'll be evicted._  
_\- TS_  
  
She ambushes Tony in his workshop with a tackle anyhow, and he takes it like a champ.  
  
  
  
  
_**vi.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=139980810)  
  
Natasha scares the bloody hell out of Darcy on a Monday morning, well before her alarm is scheduled to go off, and while she's certain the redhead before her is the deadliest woman on the face of the planet, she still can't figure out if Romanoff should qualify as life goals or wife goals in her book. Or, more importantly, how in the world she managed to get into Darcy's bedroom in the first place. Creeping in the vents, perhaps? Scaling the building to Mission Impossible it through the window? Teleportation? It's not like any option is a real stretch, but it's doubtful that anything would make the lady give up her secrets, as the mystery only serves to add to spy's off the chart fear factor.  
  
Darcy squints at the clock next to her on the nightstand, barely coherent and almost knocking over her fully grown and thriving hedgehog Chia Pet, still partially in a dream she's already forgetting. She groans at the time blinking red back at her, a firm believer that nobody should be start their day while it's still dark outside.  
  
"It's 4AM," she mumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"And you broke into my place?"  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
"Is this where you kill me, then?" Darcy asks honestly, forging the urge to panic and excepting her fate - it's not like she'd even be able to reach for her glasses by the time she's suffocated by thighs. The resident assassin only smiles something wicked back at her, and even under cover of shadow, it's gorgeous, terrifying, and as if she's reading Darcy's mind, staying a dozen steps ahead.  
  
"This is where I teach you how to never give anyone the chance," Natasha explains.

The Black Widow drags Darcy's out of shape self down to the gym, without so much as a sip of caffeine, and promptly flips her onto her back in one fluid motion when they step onto the foam mat. After Darcy's life flashes before her eyes, she takes a moment or five to lay unmoving and gasping, rethinking her choices of ever meeting Earth's Mightiest Heroes to begin with. Romanoff uses the time to tell her it's easiest to learn how to take the hits if you aren't expecting them, but this whole thing seems cruel and unusual, and predictably painful.

Darcy supposes she should feel honored that Nat, of all people, has taken time out of her schedule to train her, but then again, it would be nice if they could have (one) come up with a hour that wasn't at the buttcrack of dawn, and (two) didn't leave her so close to the brink of death. It's what she gets though, Darcy guesses, for having fallen prey to such a lowly street criminal in the presence of the Avengers. She's slightly mortified to think they probably had a group meeting about her complete and utter inadequacies, but who knows, maybe Romanoff took this one upon herself in a mix of pity and/or sadistic pleasure.  
  
Natasha has Darcy dodging punches and giving kicks all morning, and while she has mentally tried to commit herself to the challenge and learn what she can, she's losing all steam about an hour into their session. She knows Nat is talking, but her voice sounds far away and distorted like the adults on Charlie Brown, and all she can think of is if Jane would be upset were she to call out sick for the end when there's tons of science waiting to be done. When her new coach finishes up their already grueling powwow with two hundred of something called frog squats, she decides she doesn't really care, tells her boss she broke both her legs, and crashes on her couch for the next few hours, snoring like a grizzly bear. The text message she wakes up to has her shoving her head back under her blanket with a groan.  
  
_Same place, 5AM sharp tomorrow. For every minute you're late, you'll owe me 20 pullups before we start :)_  
  
  
  
  
_**vii.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=139981561)  
  
Darcy phones her dad on a Thursday afternoon to get a recap of everything she missed from the Lewis clan's latest get-together earlier in the week, thanks to some crazy readings coming from Jane's diffractometer that couldn't be ignored, and the vaguely dismal tone in his voice only makes her wish she had gone with her original plan of putting off the call for another three thousand years, like the mature grownup she is.

It sucks. Bad. But she tells him how sorry she is she wasn't able to make it at least a hundred times, and bless him, her father (the unintentional expert of guilt trips) assures her it's okay and that there will always be other reunions, before breaking into a vivid play-by-play of her cousin Spencer dominating the scavenger hunt, the three-legged race almost broke her Aunt Abbie's leg, and how her mom's potato salad was (as usual) a huge success. He promises to send her a care package in the next few days with her grandma's world famous banana nut bread and enough Poptarts and pepper spray to last the rest of the year, which she's thrilled to look out for, but when they ultimately turn to the topic of 'this job' of hers, she's positive she's going to win the award for World's Worst Daughter of Forever.  
  
"I'm strictly here to transcribe and color code Jane's chicken scratch off half used napkins, and remind her to take a shower every once and awhile." _(half) LIE!_  
  
"I've never even met any of the Avengers, how am I supposed to get you Captain America's autograph?" _(complete) LIE!  
  
_ "I know he's your favorite and that we live in the same building, but it's not like we sit down for family dinners together." _OMG, QUEEN OF LIES!_  
  
Regardless of how tough it is, Darcy understands the necessity. At risk of jeopardizing serious government secrets, or worse, becoming targets themselves, it's definitely in her parents and extended family's best interest if they stay in the dark about what she actually gets up to in her day to day. Though, if she needed any more incentive, the non-disclosure agreements from SHIELD were pretty clear that should she speak a word of anyone with ears, let alone her folks, she would be in for a lengthy sentence of solitary confinement, and likely a fair amount of torture. So yeah, there was that.  
  
Her dad tells her he's proud of her, that he loves and misses her, and that if she ever crosses paths Tony Stark and he tries anything on her to kick him forcefully in the junk, and _son of a nutcracker_ , Darcy's crying on the couch out in the open of the communal living room by the time they say their goodbyes. Face buried in the softest linen pillows that money can buy, she's trying her best to not snot all over them, but it's a legitimate struggle.  
  
She doesn't know how long she's been wallowing when Barton sneaks in the entrance at her back and hands over a spoon and a full container of mint chocolate chip ice cream, wearing the dopiest grin she's ever seen in her life, but he sits next to her silently and turns on a new episode of Dog Cops. He gives her an encouraging nudge, and as her sniffling subsides, well, she's guesses things could be worse.  
  
"I kind of love you right now, Hawkass."


	3. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick side note before we get started: heads up that (1) for story's sake, this is not Winter Soldier or Civil War compliant, and (2) there's a few iffy things at the end in 'vii' as far as violence is concerned. That being said, can I just take a second to say WOW, you guys really know how to make a girl feel special! I'm positively floored by the response I've gotten thus far and there's no way I can thank you all enough. Truly, you each have my love and gratitude ten million times over.

**_i._ **[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140126979)  
  
SHIELD falls in the early evening on the first of the month, completely out of the blue, a number of hours after Darcy and Clint initially realize that there's something profoundly wrong going down, and unsure of who to call or how to proceed. They're in his living room watching The Price is Right, recuperating from a very unequal NERF battle to determine who has to tell Bruce his favorite mug accidentally cracked in half in an attempt to make microwave cupcakes ( _'seriously,_ Hawkeye _, this isn't even fair?!_ '), when local channel two news anchor, Sara Sanders, interrupts a super compelling game of Plinko with a special, breaking news report, live from Washington DC. Plain as day, she spots them: Steve and Natasha, kneeling on the ground, surrounded by at least thirty heavily armed soldiers, all pointing guns at their heads. She abruptly inhales a Cheez-it down the wrong pipe that Barton dislodges with a single hit to the back, his eyes never straying from the screen.  
  
"That's..." she starts, unable to find the words.  
  
"Yeah..." Clint agrees.

Stuff blows up, a crap ton of secrets are spilled onto the web, and HYDRA is all anyone seems to be talking about, but by the end of the following week (albeit a little more worse for the wear), Cap and Black Widow come home with counselor bird-man, Sam Wilson, and a not dead, mostly lucid, Bucky Barnes, in tow.

Natasha explains in private, though not in much detail, about a 'memory rejuvenation' treatment back in Moscow she was able to set up with a 'former contact,' which Darcy suspects is really just code for a highly dangerous, experimental, utter shot in the dark by some very shady mad scientists - because the man hasn't had enough of that to last him two lifetimes. Either way, this craziness is what Darcy's life has turned into, and the whole, bizarre affair has the United States government (among others, probably) stalking Stark Tower, hardly keeping a low profile, that really interferes with her ability to make the trip to Little Italy to get the good cannoli for a period longer than her taste buds can handle. Steve doesn't know what it means to back down though, and with help from some top shot defense lawyers at the Nelson & Whoever firm, he sends the message loud and clear that his buddies are off limits, and is able to get the authorities off everyone's backs for good. At least, on the surface, anyways.

Darcy and Sam hit it off at once, bonding over 90's rap and her homemade chicken parmesan, but it takes some time before Rogers brings the Winter Soldier around to meet the inner club members and make nice. When he finally does, Barnes doesn't start spewing Russian threats or eliminate everybody in the room, and Steve is wearing his proud dad face, so as far as Darcy's concerned, it has to mean the dude is good people. It gives her the courage to throw the soldier a small wave and the most pleasant hello she can when introductions are made, but is met only with a look on his face like she's gum stuck to the bottom of his boot.  
  
Gum he could strangle with a shoestring if the opportunity presented itself.  
  
Gum who's body would never be found.  
  
Ever the optimist, and totally not buying the whole _'I am fire, I am death!'_ vibe, Darcy decides then and there that she's going to get him to crack a smile or perish trying. When she thinks about it, it's kind of a strong 80/20 possibility, but much like Cap, Darcy isn't one to back down either.  
  
  
  
  
**_ii._ **[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140127133)  
  
Jane leaves for Brussels to speak at conference on stellar dynamics and N-body simulations (or maybe it's N-body dynamics and stellar simulations?) on a Tuesday morning, leaving Darcy and Thor to keep each other occupied and out of trouble for a few days, and truthfully, with how much it's been all work and no play lately at both their ends, she's thankful to finally have the chance to spend some quality down time with the guy on a mini vacation of sorts.

Determined to squeeze in as much fun as she can, Darcy plans a jam-packed afternoon of Mario Kart racing on the Wii, a trip to the Natural History Museum, and a feast of way too many hot dogs from the food cart down the block that Thor earnestly takes part in. It's not until well after eleven that night when the pair starts to wind down and find themselves on the roof of the tower, lazing in deck chairs with eyes skyward. Darcy's covered in a pile of fleece blankets and has a beanie tugged snug over her ears, while the space prince sits exposed to the elements beside her in only pants and a long-sleeved shirt, as they try with little success to make out Delphinus, the dolphin, and Cygnus, the swan.

Apart from the International Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque, a good sight of the stars is the biggest thing Darcy misses about her time back in New Mexico, and it's really all Jane's fault for corrupting her with such seductive, sciencey ways. Sure, Manhattan has some of the most unbelievably wonderful things to offer, from ice skating at Rockefeller Center to watching sea otters be insanely adorable at the New York Aquarium, but stargazing? It doesn't even come close to making the list. There's way too many lights, too much pollution, and just not enough wide open desert. She can barely see Sirius under these conditions. Even so, Thor is the greatest story teller she's ever heard, so when he shares his tales of Asgard over warm drinks, she forgets her gripes and it makes for the most content and relaxed she's been a long time. In turn, though not nearly as entertaining, she unloads on him about her family back in Virginia and what life was like for her as a little girl and rambunctious teenager, while he listens intently and asks her questions, like where Jurassic Park is located.  
  
"Hey, you think Heimdall is watching us right now?" she asks him as the night draws on, car alarm sounding off a street or two over, the city still bustling below them.  
  
"Always," Thor smiles. It's all Darcy needs to hear to give a wave up to the clouds and shout as loud as she can against the chill in the air.  
  
"Hey, buddy! Thanks for keeping a look out!" The praise gets her a zealous laugh in response. "Tell him you miss him," she says with a poke. "I bet it'd make him happy. The poor guy is constantly on overtime up there."  
  
"I have no doubt that he already knows," he tells her kindly. It doesn't stop Darcy from holding her hot chocolate up high in hand.  
  
"For you, spaceman!" she yells. Thor joins her with his glass, boisterous as ever.  
  
"To Heimdall!"  
  
_Best. Night. Ever._  
  
  
  
  
_**iii.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140127202)  
  
On a Friday afternoon during her lunch break at a little known gem of a deli on 110th Street, tuna sub (extra pickles, extra cheese) in hand, Darcy decides that she's moving out of Stark Tower, abruptly hit in the face with the realization that she's a no good freeloader, on an otherwise lovely and uneventful day. She's next in line at the register, perfectly fine, unawares, and getting crumbled dollar bills out of her pocket when she runs into former biochem major, Gwen Ellis, that used to live in the dorm across the hall from her back in junior year, and who ultimately brings her back to reality. Pleasantries aside, and as all reunions seem to perilously go, she immediately gets _the question_.  
  
"So! What have you been up to?!"  
  
"Oh, you know, just helping out Doctor Foster here and there," Darcy says, nonchalant, eyes drawn to the fresh tray of ciabatta rolls, golden and heavenly, coming out of the oven behind the counter. "Stark Industries reeled her in with a pretty sweet setup and promises of some state of the art spectrometers that she couldn't resist _._ I mostly just stick around for the apartment's free movie channels."  
  
"You guys live in Stark Tower?! Seriously?! God, they must be paying you a fortune!"  
  
_Ah._  
  
"I mean, I get by..."  
  
"I'd say so, if you're throwing $75,000 a month at rent alone," Gwen laughs. Darcy drops her change of dimes and nickles to the floor and almost spits out a mouth full of orange soda onto the sales clerk in front of her.  
  
_"Seventy what now???"_  
  
"That's the rent there, right? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be presumptuous. Forbes did an article about it not too long ago," she explains, as they both take their purchases and head to the door. "Stark doesn't rent out any residential floors to the public and keeps it strictly for company use - and for the Avengers, I suppose. It was all hypothetical granted, and you obviously know more than me, but that was their estimate if I remember correctly. Oh my gosh, have you ever seen Captain America around?! Such a babe."  
  
Darcy thinks she might throw up at the thought of so many zeros at the end of that number on a bill she isn't paying and gives the woman a flimsy excuse to hastily take her leave. She grabs her phone from the bag hanging off her shoulder and texts Jane at once, explaining that she's pulling out her free mental health day card and to be at Darcy's place by 6PM sharp, ready to start packing boxes. Within the hour, she's googling various commute times to Midtown, interrupted only by a knock at the door from her landlord.  
  
"Open up, intern. I'm catching my death out here." Darcy prepares to tell Tony to go away when she opens up, but he takes it as an invitation and lets himself in, without giving her the chance to speak. She can't really fault the guy, what with perks of owning the building, and shuts the entry behind him. "I hear you're thinking about leaving me. What gives?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that I've just now realized that I'm a huge giant leech who couldn't even afford to live in the security closet of this building?" she starts, falling dramatically to the couch. "I partially blame you though, I want you to know. Blinding me with all this generosity and the voice activated espresso machines." Tony sits down next to her, fidgeting with the candles she's put on her glass-top coffee table. He smells them each one by one, unperturbed.  
  
"You live here as payment for services. It's not a big deal," he says, sniffing a waxy blue jar. " _'Storm Watch?'_ How's that a thing?" Darcy ignores the quips, still troubled.  
  
"Okay one, 'payment for services,'" she air-quotes, "sounds disgusting coming from you. Never say it again. For two, you _already_ pay me."  
  
"So?"

"So what I do is only worth like ten bucks an hour in the real world."  
  
"Okay, so?"  
  
"So you practically quadrupled that put me on a salary!"  
  
"You're going to need to spell this out for me, kid, because I'm failing to see the problem."  
  
"Failing to see the- are you kidding me?" she huffs. "At no point does any of this equal out to me living here for free! How is this not obvious? How do you have so much money that it's totally warped your brain of any logical functionality?"  
  
"What do you you want, Darcy? To pay me? Do you think I'm that strapped for cash? Because I promise you, I'm really not." Darcy practically rolls her eyes into the next universe and tries to smother herself with a throw pillow.  
  
"I'm taking advantage, Tony. And that's not cool," she muffles through the fabric.  
  
"Then congratulations, you're hereby an official Avenger. Room and board are on the house for the duration of your stay."  
  
"Tony.." He tosses the cushion aside, leaving Darcy pouting there like the adult she is, and presses on.  
  
"What's your handle gonna be? Lab Lord? Taster Tart? Booberella?" he shrugs it off. "Your membership card will be in the mail within seven to ten business days. JARVIS?"  
  
("Noted, sir.")  
  
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" The smile doesn't leave his dumb, charitable face.  
  
"I've got Pep on speed dial, ready to buy out any contender in a hundred mile radius you plan on renting from." No, of course he wasn't. "We're friends, smalls. Friends help each other out. Let me do this." Darcy knows it's a losing battle, and when Stark glances at the listings she's got pulled up on her laptop, more applicable to her financial situation, the slim chance she did have at arguing with him goes out the window entirely. "Brownsville? As in murder capital of New York, Brownsville? Yeah, that's not happening."

Darcy groans and grumbles, and in hindsight, she's embarrassed, but Tony stands his ground and is unrelenting as they go around in circles for another half hour until she eventually agrees to his stupidly benevolent terms.  
  
"Fine," she points an accusing finger at him. "But we're ordering out from that fancy Indian place, I'm paying, and you're going to order whatever you want. I mean it."  
  
"Deal."  
  
  
  
  
_**iv.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140131546) _ **  
**_

Steve draws Darcy's picture after dinner on a Tuesday to get his mind off things while Sam has a therapy session with Bucky, and without question, the sketch is the most stunning thing she's ever seen to the point that it actually squashes any self-doubts she's got about her appearance, and has her feeling pretty damn confident. How he managed to get each minuscule freckle on her nose and strand of hair falling out of her bun, she's got no clue, but down to the raindrops sticking to the window behind her and the beads around her bracelet, it's flawless. She snaps a photo of it for safe keeping for the rest of time, and ever the gentleman, Steve is the one who starts thanking her when he's finished.  
  
"I appreciate the distraction, Darcy, really. It means a lot."  
  
"Keep making me look like this and you won't be able to get rid of me," she laughs, admiring the thick page of his hardbound sketchbook. "I was prepared to shower you with some less than true compliments to spare your feelings, but I'm legit amazed."  
  
"Just drawing what I see," he smiles.

Darcy nearly gets around to asking if he'd show her some of his other works sometime, but the fleeting, gloomy expression he's barely hiding on his face stops her. After the month he's had with his best friend back from the grave and the appearance of what Darcy has dubbed as SHIELDRA, it's not without merit that he's there but not always _there_ , so to speak. She can't help but pry out of concern for the man who constantly makes sure everyone else is okay, and never fails to lend an ear or throw down some wisdom to those in need.  
  
"So, level with me, pal. You doing alright? I know you big strong hero types don't generally like talking about your feelings, but let's pretend for a sec that I'm strictly asking Steve Rogers and not the Captain." He thinks on her words for a moment, putting his pencils away with care, before answering.  
  
"It's been an adjustment," he tells her candidly. "It's not that I was expecting things to go back to exactly the way they were in 1945, but occasionally I have to stop and remind myself that he's not the same Bucky I remember. He's still him, there's just more now. And that's not bad - not at all - just different. Like making a new friend."

"He's grown up," Darcy remarks. "You both have. You're guys _are_ almost seven hundred in dog years. That changes a person." Steve chuckles at that and manages a small smirk.  
  
"I'm just happy to have him back and to see the progress after everything he's gone through."

"Tony was working on the arm when I stopped through with some paperwork last night, and I'll have you know I managed to get a few sentences out of him," she brags with a grin. "Honest to goodness, more than one syllable sentences! How's that for progress?" It makes Rogers beam.  
  
"He told me. Said you were bullying him and wouldn't stop hovering."  
  
"Bullying? What a butthead," she laughs. "All I said was that there were some refrigerator magnets in my kitchen that I thought would really bring out the color of his eyes if he wanted to try them on."  
  
"Really?" He gives her a curious look. "Now see the way I heard it is that you actually brought a magnetic poetry kit with you and were making hiakus on him."  
  
"No, that doesn't sound like me at all," Darcy shakes her head.  
  
"I think the ' _Grandpa's grouchy again / Where did he get that knife from? / I think it's nap time_ ' one was his favorite."  
  
"Okay, well, whoever wrote that is a certified genius. I'm talking like Pulitzer Prize worthy." Steve gives her shoulder a tiny squeeze as he gets up to leave with his belongings, already looking lighter and at ease.  
  
"Thank you," he says again. "For treating him like a normal person." It's sweet of him to say, but Darcy really doesn't see the big deal and is all about fresh slates to those that deserve them.  
  
"What other kind of people are there?"  
  
  
  
  
_**v.** _[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140127332)  
  
Darcy's mom Facebook chats her on a Saturday night when she's sauntering about the kitchen closest to R &D, making mudslides and nachos for a night in with Jane (away from white coats and telescopes for once in their lives), after a series of faulty data screws up this week's latest string of tests that Darcy may or may not know anything about. Only a handful of messages in, she already wants to chuck the thing aside and ignore the pings for the rest of the night, but it's been at good week or two since they've gotten to talk for even a minute, so she settles for eating a spoonful of queso dip instead and indulges in her birth-giver's antics like she knows she should.

  
_Liz Lewis (8:13pm)_ \- what are you doing? get off the internet, nerdy mcnerdson.  
_Darcy Lewis (8:14pm)_ \- omg  
_Darcy Lewis (8:14pm)_ \- how rude  >:(  
_Liz Lewis (8:16pm)_ \- it's the weekend, YOU LIVE IN NYC, you should be out on the town! *eight wine glass emjois*  
_Liz Lewis (8:17pm) -_ WITH A DESIGNATED DRIVER!  
_Liz Lewis (8:17pm)  -_ IT'S WHAT THE COOL KIDS DO!  
_Darcy Lewis (8:18 pm)_ \- holy caps lock. i'm busy with work, how about we lay off the critique of my social life, k?  
_Darcy Lewis (8:18 pm)_ \- also, you're right, it is nyc. we do taxis here. not dd's. get with the times, lady!  
_Liz Lewis (8:23pm)_ \- so thanksgiving is coming up. should we expect a plus one?  
_Darcy Lewis (8:23pm)_ \- MOTHER PLZ!!  
_Liz Lewis (8:24pm)_ \- what? i'm trying to plan accordingly. these are things i need to know.  
_Darcy Lewis (8:26pm)_ \- it's 2 months away????  
_Liz Lewis (8:28pm)_ \- melikes to be prepared :)  
_Darcy Lewis (8:28pm)_ \- said no one in our family ever.  
  
  
She misses the woman, don't get her wrong, but subtlety has never been Liz Lewis' strong suit. It's a trait that has for sure been passed onto Darcy as her parent's only child, but there's only one _true_ master in the art of being blatantly obvious and discernible, and it's her mother. Liz's desire for Darcy to find a nice guy to settle down with after all this wandering, and live a full, happy life, is about as crystal clear as it gets, and yet still no closer to happening than Loki declaring his love for the human race and renouncing his tricky ways. She's just - how to put it? - _too much_ to gain relationship status. Too much snark, too much independence, too much immaturity, too much clinging - just too much to be good girlfriend material. After a couple boyfriends throughout her high school years that didn't go anywhere significant, and only a handful of potential prospects during her time at Culver that ended before they got a chance to really get started, Darcy found it was way easier (especially these days with her current line of work), to just tell her mom and dad that she was occupied with other things and too busy to go out and meet someone. It's not a _complete_ lie, really - her life is hectic and complicated, and it's dangerous to let just anyone waltz right in, but if she's being honest, sometimes Darcy thinks she may very well have _'DO NOT DATE_ ' tattooed in huge bold lettering across her forehead.

Tonight's conversation is going to be a no-win, like most about the subject are, so Darcy leaves it at that and double checks the contents of the oven before making a beeline back to her place for a few bottles of nail polish, a family size bag of Raisinettes, and her complete boxset DVD collection of Alfred Hitchcock classics. It barely takes ten minutes, but when she returns, her phone won't stop vibrating across the table. She crosses her fingers that Jane hasn't realized that the heavily taped thingywhathaveyou isn't malfunctioning, and that Darcy actually swapped the map under yesterday's readings of the tri-state area for one of Middle Earth in a brilliant ploy to make this evening of forced companionship possible.  
  
_Darcy Lewis (8:30pm)_ \- we wanted it to be a surprise, but i guess the cat has to come out of the bag sometime.  
_Darcy Lewis (8:30pm)_ \- tony said he'll be there. he's really been wanting to meet u guys. promise u will be on ur best behavior!  
_Liz Lewis (8:32pm)_ \- stark? har har, you're very funny  
_Liz Lewis (8:32pm)_ \- if i didnt mention that i want my future son-in-law NOT old enough to be my husband, consider this me telling you  
_Darcy Lewis (8:32pm)_ \- please don't be mad, mom. i love him  & he loves me. give him a chance.  
_Liz Lewis (8:34pm)_ \- darcy  
_Liz Lewis (8:34pm)_ \- that is not remotely funny  
_Darcy Lewis (8:35pm) -_ wait until u see the ring tho!!!!!!  
_Liz Lewis (8:36pm)_ \- answer your phone right now  
_Liz Lewis (8:38pm)_ \- i am serious !  
_Liz Lewis (8:38pm)_ \- DARCY MARIE YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO KILL YOU A THOUSAND TIMES  
_Liz Lewis (8:39pm)_ \- AND I'M NOT GOING TO STOP HIM  
  
She drops her mobile on the counter and the urge to murder her so-called friend takes over when she hears giggling in the recesses of the ventilation duct. She screams to Barton that he's a dead man and searches out something sturdy in the vicinity to hit him with, but it only eggs the archer on.  
  
" _YOU'VE BEEN HAWKEYED!_ " he yells, like that's a thing that's gonna catch on. "MAYBE YOU'LL THINK TWICE NEXT TIME BEFORE DITCHING ME FOR A GIRL'S NIGHT!"  
  
"YOU WERE INVITED TO JOIN US, YOU DWEEB!"  
  
Four days of all our war later, and about a billion missed calls from her folks, a truce to end the hijinks is agreed upon when Pepper accidentally gets caught on the receiving end of a ghastly mustard-filled powdered doughnut, but not before Darcy lets loose a brood of chickens into Clint's bedroom that poop, literally, all over the place ( _'Aww, birds, no!! Darcy, why?!'_ ).  
  
She laughs so hard she nearly faints.

  
  
  
  
_**vi.** _[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140127403)  
  
After showering and getting her pineapple smoothie fix from a nearby cafe, Darcy crashes Bruce's yoga session in the (well, _his_ ) mediation room early on a Sunday morning, and then again every Sunday thereafter without fail, like an imposter trying to be the poster child for tranquil and serene. It's never been a pastime that she's been outright interested in, but Banner has barely said two words to her since their initial meeting in her apartment, apart from the reserved 'hello' when she passes him around the labs, and a simple (yet sincere) 'thank you' when she brings him his favorite lemon ginger tea and the occasional bear claw on tower errand runs that he never asks for, leaving Darcy to decide that enough is enough. It's not until her third visit when finally works up the nerve to say something, eyeing her dubiously as she plops down across from him with her bright blue elephant mat and Harry Potter garb, and humming to herself what is most clearly the soundtrack to Mary Poppins.  
  
"If this time is best for you, I can figure out something else if you'd like," he offers. Unexpected, Darcy lights up at once, overjoyed to have chipped through the tough exterior at last.  
  
"He speaks! Holy cow, I was beginning to think that my pizza underwear seriously scarred you!" The doctor's at an absolute loss when she playfully punches him in the shoulder with a snort and looks at her puzzled.  
  
"I'm... sorry?"  
  
"This has been some extremely one-sided BFF quality time, Bruce, I've gotta say," she smiles, getting into a comfortable position with her legs crossed. "But I'm really glad you decided to join me after all."  
  
"Quality time?" he asks, itching at the back of his neck, uncertain.

"Yeah, you know. Hang out. Do yoga together. Give each other some silent support. I don't know about you, but I could use it. This city is brutal even without the ridiculous amount of evildoers waiting for you heros to bust them." The man is fighting it, Darcy can tell, but ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitches under the seriousness he's got plastered on. It's all she needs to give the man a wink and bestow upon herself a mental gold star. "It's okay, it'll be our secret. It's not like we live with nosy super spies or anything."

"And the BFF part? What does that entail, exactly?"  
  
"The basics? Gossiping sessions, giving each other manicures, a fair bit of desserts and alcohol, although not necessarily in that order." He surprises her with a laugh and an indistinguishable nod as he relaxes himself into a bound angle pose with eyes closed, more content than she's ever seen him before.  
  
"We might be able to do some that."  
  
_Heck to the yes._  
  
Before he tries to change his mind, she taps her new buddy on the shoulder, breaking his concentration, and silently holds out her pinkie finger; the sacred promise to end all other inferior promises. She's grinning as Banner accepts, and even more so when he tells her to focus.

  
  
  
  
  
_**vii.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140127580) _ **  
**_

Darcy gets kidnapped on her way back to Stark Tower after doing some shopping in the So-Ho district, just after five at the end of the month, when a trio of deodorant oblivious goons jump her with a blow to the back of the head like a bad Lifetime movie, on the curb off 6th and Canal Street. When she finally comes to, she's zipped tied in the corner of a dingy cellar that smells an awful lot like rotting fish, with a 'roided up Expendables reject looming over her, sporting some serious tactical gear and a bad buzzcut. He grabs her at once by the chin and demands she tell him everything she knows about Jane's research, the access codes to Tony's lair, and the status of the Winter Soldier, and to her credit, she's able to keep it together until he takes a swing at her cheek and gives her a swift kick to the ribs, knocking the wind right out of her. It's probably not the smartest course of action, but with her vision swimming and glasses on the floor, broken at the hinges, sarcasm remains Darcy's natural defense mechanism.

"They're not gonna be too happy with you when they realize I'm not home to get fajita night going," she coughs, spitting a bit of blood to the ground and trying desperately to stay calm. The taste of iron in her mouth only further turns her stomach and leaves her hands shaking. "For a bunch of superheros, they're honestly toddlers in the off hours." Not surprising, the guy is all business and couches down to her level to whisper harshly in her ear, moving his grip to her neck and pressing forcefully on her windpipe, leaving marks that she can already feel forming.  
  
"We'll see how funny you are without your tongue."  
  
Mr. Welcoming Committee locks the door behind him as he leaves, giving Darcy the chance to catch her wheezing breath, force back her tears, and break off the restraints she's in like she had practiced tons of times back in the gym - fifth try still the charm. To say she's frightened is an understatement, but if anything, more downright pissed at herself for getting into this situation to begin with. She should have been more careful, taken things more seriously, and is already dreading having to talk about this with Romanoff when - _if_ \- she makes it home. Really, what was she expecting trying to play team mom to the Avengers? She isn't powered or enhanced. She doesn't have any fancy tech on her side. She's a glorified secretary, if anything, and the weak link in the chain.  
  
Darcy knows it's hardly the moment for reflection and kicks off the heels that she just _had_ to wear without another thought, allowing herself ten seconds to get composed before forcing her brain to recall the Cliff's Notes version of everything Natasha has drilled into her about self-defense, should she find herself in a dire situation. Wordlessly chanting the basics gives her some sense of comfort and steadies her pulse.  
  
_Observe. Orient. Decide. Act._  
  
_Solar plexus. Instep. Nose. Groin._  
_Solar plexus. Instep. Nose. Groin._  
_Solar plexus. Instep. Nose. Groin._  
  
_S-I-N-G.   S-I-N-G.   S-I-N-G._  
  
Willing herself to disregard the pounding in her ears, Darcy gets into position behind the entrance to gain some element of surprise, and when her captor does indeed return with whatever torture tools HYDRA issues for playtime, they both can hardly believe she's genuinely doing the damn thing. She slips out of the man's rough grasp around her back, thanks to the shock more than actual strength, and punches him in the face for good measure. It's not nearly as graceful and badass as the Black Widow makes it look, but it's effective, and frankly, Darcy's too busy running down the hallway to salvation to care.  
  
The dude is only down for a fraction of a second, and though it's still a head start, there are four armed men on the opposite end of the crumbling building that they've set up shop in who turn in time to see her round a corner that aren't as kind to give her the same courtesy. She's pretty sure she feels a bullet whiz by her cheek within inches, instructions to 'not damage the goods before we get what we need' now out the window, just as she finds the door leading outside, never so happy to be met with the sound of deafening thunder and the invention of GPS locators in all her life.  
  
Thor is obviously nearby, and if the guard several yards to her right with an arrow sticking disgustingly out of his chest in any indication, so is Clint, but the relief is short lived when someone snags her backward by the arm with such force it almost dislocating her shoulder in the process. Darcy's yelling for help and trying to claw the asshole's eyes out when he's flipped in the air right in front of her, landing on his back against the cement pavement with a sickening crack. He stops struggling completely when he gets a metal fist to the face.  
  
" _Dude..._ "  
  
Barnes, of all people, grabs her by the hand and pulls her along to safety.  
  
"This way."  
  
Nothing but ninja stealth and insane precision, Bucky leads her from the carnage, quickly and without incident, straight to a vehicle that looks like it came from the SI garage. With no comm unit in ear, he waves down a suited-up Steve who looks confused as all hell about both their arrivals, but is at their side in an instant. Darcy laughs almost hysterically, ecstatic to be alive and be marred with exactly zero gunshot wounds, as Rogers looks her over, and aside from procuring an icepack, Darcy only can think of settling down in the comfort of her bed and getting her hands on the biggest plate of cheese fries she can find, attempting to put the violent experience she just lived through out of mind.  
  
When Natasha comes out with word that perimeter is officially secure, and looking downright murderous, Darcy launches herself at the woman and doesn't let go.  
  
"You're the best teacher on the planet, I swear to god!"


	4. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give credit where it's due, Natasha's speech to Darcy in 'iv' is not all my doing. It has quotes from Shannon Alder, Andrew Murphy, and an episode of Arrow all mashed together. Moreover, so many thanks to each and every one of you for the continued outpouring of love! You guys are fab!

**_i._** [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421227)  
  
Hiding out in her apartment, away from overprotecting and worried eyes, Darcy orders the Winter Soldier the most expensive Edible Arrangements fruit basket their website offers to express her gratitude for the part he played in saving her life, and hands it over on a Friday morning, three days after she's snatched off the street. Shamefully, she sends every incoming call on her phone straight to voicemail as she's holed up, and only manages to get about an hour of sleep before she running purely on the caramel frappuccinos she asks JARVIS to deliver to her room, like Tony on a tech bender.  
  
It takes some smooth-talking persuasion but Darcy reluctantly lets Bruce, and only Bruce, pop in to take a follow-up look at her injures, though he doesn't bombard her with questions she doesn't feel like answering as they did during her debrief, and goes as soon as he's finished, which notably makes her breathe a little easier. When Jane finds out Darcy's had a visitor who isn't her (and in the weirdest role reversal of all time), she leaves almost an entire pack of post-it notes stuck to the front door, all from the same 'you've got a tweet!' pad in the lab, telling her to make sure she eats, gets some rest, and to call when she's ready. Ever the trooper letting Darcy tear up on her shoulder during the car ride home, Natasha opts for a different route, merely sliding an appointment card to the priciest spa in the city under the crack.  
  
Darcy digs through the depths of her closet and finds a scarf that covers up most of the bruising around her neck and cakes foundation onto every other apparent part of her body that's turned an ugly, purple hue before setting a foot outside her place to track down Barnes and give him his reward. Sneaking her way through the tower, not quite ready to deal with any face-to-face looks of empathy and guilt, she ends up finding him alone in the living area, feet propped up on the mahogany coffee table and holding a pillow to his chest. She pushes the present into his baffled hands and says her piece.  
  
"I don't really know the proper protocol for this type of thing, except to say thank you," she tells him, fiddling with the ends of her hair, hanging loose and messy down her back. "I mean, really, thank you. I'm beyond appreciative for not being six feet under right now, but words seem super insignificant in account of you totally body-slamming that psychopath who was going to murder me, so yeah. This is for you," she gestures to the display. "You don't strike me as a flower guy, so I went with the next best thing, because who doesn't like chocolate-covered strawberries, right?"

Bucky looks as if he's unsure whether the basket needs to be disarmed or she needs to be taken to medical, and sits silent, watching her suspiciously, as daytime tv programming plays between them.  
  
"You eat it," she adds after a moment. It gets her an exaggerated sigh.

"I gathered that. Thanks for clarifying."  
  
"Well give it to Steve if you don't like it then, but I'm calling dibs on all the pineapple," she huffs, making a grab at it, but Barnes holds her gift closer to his person, protectively and out of reach.  
  
"You planning on sleeping anytime soon there, hot shot?" he asks, brows raised. Darcy doesn't mean to glare at him, chalking it up to her face lashing out in stressed-induced insomnia, but he somehow receives her encrypted message. "Okay, tiger. None of my business. Understood," he nods as she heads for the door. "But that Dog Cops thing is coming up next if you wanna watch." The words make her stop in her tracks, barely able to believe what she's hearing.  
  
"Is Sir Broods-A-Lot offering me a pity hang, right now?" Barnes shrugs and picks up several green grapes, tossing them in his mouth.  
  
"You can have the pineapple," he bribes.  
  
Darcy kicks him lightly in the leg with her foot, telling him to scooch, and eventually gets through an episode and a half, plus three whole stems of the arrangement, before the mother of all caffeine crashes catches up with her and she's snoring on the couch, dead to the world. When she wakes up, it's well past dinner time, she's covered up in the softest woven blanket that she's ever had the pleasure of rubbing her face on, and Bucky and his basket are gone. She's insanely achy, but feeling rested, which is more than she can say she's been for the last seventy-two hours, and finally comes to the decision that it's time to push her apprehension aside and get back to business first thing on Monday morning (or at least sometime after ten).  
  
Sending out a group text as soon as gets back to her floor saying that she's fine - yes, she promises - and for nobody to make it weird, because _'let's be real, all of you have been kidnapped at least twice,'_ Darcy proceeds to stay of the phone with Jane for the rest of the night to get a rundown of the six fires that broke out in the labs while she's been gone, and Thor's heavy-handed introduction to Temple Run on Tony's newest, top of the line Starkpad.  
  
  
  
  
**_ii._** [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421309)  
  
Johnny Storm has been brazenly staring at Darcy's legs for a solid two hours during a Wednesday morning meeting when she tasers him in the groin with expert accuracy, and truthfully, with the mouth on the sorry excuse for a guy, she's sort of surprised (bewildered, even) that it takes her so long to bring the asshole down.  
  
It all starts with an idea from her eggheads to bring the Fantastic Four in, specifically one Dr. Reed Richards, to collaborate on the most scientific and efficient methods of combating what's left of HYDRA on the home front, and in theory, it's a great plan - a logical plan. The part where they execute it proves to be a whole different beast that they clearly weren't prepared to deal with. Reed's got the intelligence part covered, for sure, but he doesn't play well with others, and not in the typical Tony Stark fashion they've come to indulge, and maybe even secretly enjoy. No, with zilch on the charm factor, and all stuffy, Richards makes it abundantly clear he hasn't a moment of time for anyone else's opinions, thoughts, or feelings if their IQ doesn't rival his own (provided they've got an XY chromosome), and even then, it's a debate he doesn't plan on losing. Darcy thinks it's somewhat of a miracle that Doom hasn't given up and surrendered in annoyance over the sheer vapidity, but she knows it's got to be wearing the villain down.

When she greets the man and his team from the Baxter Building as they arrive, getting only a 'black, three sugars' coffee order from him in return, Darcy knows she's in for a long day. As for his brother-in-law, the Human Torch, she's astounded to find that all the heinous stories are true. The guy's an affront to women everywhere, and it's a wonder how a sweetheart like Susan puts up with so much crap.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met," Storm tells her, pulling back from the others on the walk to the conference room and giving her a devious smile that's a hundred percent cringe-worthy. "I know I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that." Though, shocker, it's not her face he's looking at.  
  
"Not gonna happen in a million years, Charmander. Please don't waste your breath."  
  
"I don't know, gorgeous," he says, giving her a thorough once over from head to toe. "I think we can work something out, don't you?" Darcy doesn't give him the satisfaction of responding any further, especially with no comment on such a solid Pokemon reference, and leaves him in her tracks as she follows the rest of the group. When she passes Steve and Bucky's open adjacent office where they've been busy drafting their own agenda, she silently mouths ' _KILL ME_ ' at them in frustration. Still behind her, Darcy can feel Storm leering. It makes her skin crawl.

Greetings aside (if you can call them that), Reed hardly gives Jane the courtesy to speak as the consultation is well on it's way, insisting he needs a glimpse of anything alien recovered from the Chitauri invasion, and it's evident how irritated Tony and Bruce are getting, not that Johnny is hearing a word of it. He makes sure to sit next to Darcy when she takes her seat, then it's a two hour ride of every line he can throw at her, from 'life is short and you are hot,' to 'if you're feeling down, I can feel you up.' She stops listening and reaches for her purse, patience completely worn, when he mentions something about dinner and touches her knee, lightly running his thumb across the bend. She thinks he says Cantone's, which she'll at least give him props for picking a place that's swanky, but she isn't entirely sure, because he's falling out of his chair and twitching in about three seconds flat. Only then does everybody stop the incessant bickering, _thank Thor._  
  
The Invisible Woman politely informs her squad that they need to get going, and apologizes for not being able to be anymore of a help, while a grumbling Grimm picks up The Human Assface by the collar of his shirt and Tony gives her a high-five.  
  
Storm's limping out of the door past a pair of very confused supersoldiers when Barnes puts two and two together when he sees she's got her trusty sidekick still in hand. Low and behold, in the most unexpected turn of things and by far the highlight of Darcy's day, the reformed assassin isn't just smiling. He's laughing.  
  
She points the thing in Barnes' direction, but throws him a lively smile.  
  
"Respect the taser, sergeant."  
  
  
  
  
**_iii._** [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421501)  
  
Darcy is working on feeling safe and at ease by herself back out in the bustling city, trusty new panic button in tow, when she finds a small, slightly shaggy-haired dog rummaging underneath an industrial dumpster next to Marco's Pizzeria in Greenly Square, on a Saturday afternoon around four, while on her way over to Midtown Comics to do some much needed shopping. He's obviously a mutt of some kind; maybe half Jack Russell, half Beagle, but all adorable either way. They make eye contact for several seconds as she walks by, and before she knows what's happening, she's wrangling him easily into her arms and leaving the pet store on Elmerton with two bags full of necessities, new issue of X-Men long since forgotten.  
  
She sneaks the little guy into Stark Tower under her coat when she comes home, but Clint has the most ridiculous canine radar on the planet (and has likely been tailing her since she left the building to be on the safe side), and shows up at her door by the time she starts cutting the tag off the pooch's spacious microplush bed, bacon-scented squeaky bone, and a blue knotted rope for tug of war.  
  
"Is there a dog in there?" he asks, eagerly peeking over her head for a better view into her residence. A timely bark confirms his suspicions before she can say anything, and Barton pushes himself right past Darcy, barging right into the sanctity of her apartment. "I knew it!"  
  
They decide to call him Indy, because Darcy's love for Doctor Jones literally knows no bounds, and they soon discover he's got a love for popcorn and string cheese, chewing on flip flops, and provided the proper ear rubbing, will fall asleep in Hawkeye's lap anytime, anywhere. The pair alternates the dog's living arrangement between both their places on the down low, and in fact, they make it almost a full week until Tony bursts through her front door unannounced, while Barton is sitting at her kitchen table, teaching her the finer points of counting cards.  
  
"I know you guys think you're slick," Stark says with a tone, glancing behind, under, and inside every inanimate object within view. "But I invented slick. I'm the pioneer of slick. You cannot out-slick the slick-master." Darcy knows that she's been found out, but Tony doesn't wait to hear it from her directly, and instead summons his artificial son to settle matters. "Where's the mongrel hiding, JARVIS?"  
  
("In the master bedroom, sir.")  
  
She and Clint groan.  
  
("Apologies, Miss Lewis. I endeavored to keep your secret.")  
  
They follow Tony down the hall and Indy trots out to meet them halfway, a pair of Darcy's earbuds balled up in his mouth, as if he doesn't have a dozen other things he could be playing with. When the dog sees there's a new person for him to meet, however, the headphones are forgotten on the ground and he gets up on his hind legs at once, pawing at Stark in an attempt to lick his face. Tony holds out his hands defensively, briefly unable to find his voice, while the dog excitedly begins jumping clear past the man's waist.  
  
"Just hear me out," Darcy starts, but Tony isn't having it. Not today. Not about this.  
  
"Kid, I swear on all that's holy-"  
  
"He was eating out of the garbage, Tony," she says unyielding. "What was I supposed to do? Take him to the pound so he can sit in a kennel the size of a box for the rest of his life?"  
  
"I think the real question here is how can anyone not like dogs?" Barton chimes in. Tony gives him a unimpressed glower.  
  
"Do you know why we have the no pet policy, Lewis? The policy, might I add, that you agreed to follow when you signed your SI contact? Please, take a guess."  
  
"Because you hate cute, cuddly creatures that make you feel feelings?"  
  
"Because tragic backstory?" Clint asks.  
  
"Because _Avengers,_ because the smells, because the destruction, because they're always trying to hand you things!"  
  
"Tragic backstory," Darcy nods to Barton in agreement.

Tony's already got white hairs standing out all over his black pants and the look on his face is irked, to say the least, so Darcy knows if this is going to fall in her favor, she needs to break out the big guns and quick. She demands her eyes to fill with tears and picks the furball off the floor, cradling him close as he kisses her nose, willing Stark to look at her. The man shakes his head, turning away, while she steps in his way and reels him in with a devastating _'please.'_ If it wasn't enough to warm his cold, anti-puppy heart, JARVIS speaks overhead and really clinches things.  
  
("If I may, sir. Many studies have shown that having a canine is actually extremely beneficial and encouraged. Not only do they provide companionship and reduce anxiety and depression, but numbers of owners have shown lower triglyceride, blood pressure, and cholesterol levels.")  
  
Tony throws an incriminating point at her, while Indy attempts with all his might to lick the outstretched finger.  
  
"You stop corrupting my AI!"  
  
("I assure you, my systems are in perfect condition.")  
  
Stark is rambling about coups and Caesar, but the hand massaging the bridge of his nose and droop of his shoulders tells Darcy that the damage is already done.  
  
"It stays out of the labs and comes nowhere near my workshop or he's Hulk's new chew toy," he says turning to see himself out. "I do still own the building, JARVIS, yes? No hostile takeovers while I slept?"  
  
("Affirmative, sir.")  
  
Darcy grins and gives her new roommate a ruffle behind the ears, while Stark swaggers away defeated and Clint stands by, amazed.  
  
"You are _good_."  
  
  
  
  
_**iv.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421588) **  
**

Darcy decides to step up her game with Natasha early on a Sunday morning, well before she would normally even be out of bed, once she takes her pup for a quick walk, stopping for him to sniff every fire hydrant, trash can, and dog butt on the way. She's got real exercise clothes on for once ( _thank you, H &M clearance rack!_), a pair of sneakers that the box promises will deliver maximum shock absorption, and actually went the extra mile of breaking her 'no contacts before 7AM' rule. When she meets her coach by the treadmills, Romanoff doesn't seem all that taken aback, and in Darcy's opinion, looks way too beautiful for someone who is in the middle of a brutal workout regime.  
  
"We don't usually train on Sundays," she smiles knowingly, keeping her pace. "Thought you said you need the weekend to recuperate?"  
  
"Not anymore," Darcy says, adamantly. "Teach me everything. No more baby stuff."

The Black Widow obliges without a second thought, making her do lunge twists, tricep dips, cross-body crunches, and oh god, so many pull-ups. Then, just when she thinks they're ready to wind down for the day, Nat hands her a pair of boxing gloves, sets her up in front of a punching bag in the corner, and tells her to start hitting. It goes on for three long, excruciating hours, to the point where Darcy's not even sure if her legs are attached to her body anymore, though persistent in her endeavor, she keeps going with only minimal complaining.

No matter how much it sucked, Darcy knows that for her own good, taking off the training wheels during her time with Natasha is what needs to be done. It was only a matter of time until she was going to be eyed by some serious undesirables for her connections with the team, and while she manged to get lucky once thanks to the Widow's teachings, if Darcy didn't take things to the next level and get better, there's no telling if she'd be able to make it out alive again. It's grim to think, but while the ordeal she had gone through was rough, things could have easily ended terribly. Her taser will always be good to hang onto and her friends will always come to the rescue, there's no question about it, but she _has_ to be able to defend herself against the worst of the worst if at some point neither become available. It's only smart.  
  
Darcy's thoughts get more intrusive, wondering things like when and where the next snatch and grab is inevitably going to happen, and if HYDRA has planted moles in the building with who she already may interact with daily, but Natasha senses the wandering notions and snaps her out of it with a bit of sass.  
  
"The fruit basket was cute," she teases as Darcy's landing blow against the leather. Normally, she would never say the words to Nat - not ever, in a million years - but today, tired, cranky, and missing her bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, she does.  
  
" _Shut up_."  
  
Romanoff laughs and doesn't even threaten her with another twenty laps, but turns matter-of-fact, watching for any faults in form and footwork.  
  
"A lot of times in this business, most of your perspective on life comes from the cage you've been held in, Darcy," she says impassive. "You wind up getting caught behind walls you build yourself and usually, whether you want it or not, you need someone on the other side to dig you out." Once landing another few jabs against her target, Darcy stops, breathing heavily with arms shaky and overworked.  
  
"What are you trying to say, Nat?"  
  
"Figure it out," she smirks, pushing her on. "And quit moving with your back. Strike with your hips. It's where the power comes from."  
  
  
  
  
**_v._**[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421714)  
  
Beyond excited for the candy binge, D-rate monster flicks from the 1950's, and creative costume displays that Halloween is gearing up to offer, Darcy sweeps into the Tony's workshop on a Tuesday after lunch, latte in hand that looks as if it's exclusively whipped cream, and enthusiastically let's everyone within ear shot know where the countdown stands for the best night of the year, just as she has everyday for the past two weeks.

"Nine days until go time, folks!" she declares loud and proud, gliding between the tables. "Tick tock, Bruce. What are we going as? I'm thinking Where's Waldo and Carmen Sandiego, but I'm totally open to suggestions," she tells him, finger guns pointed his way.  
  
"Afraid I can't join you," he says, keeping an eye on the seemingly unintelligible data streaming to his computer screen. "Selvig and I will be in Boston. But good choice, maybe next year." Darcy pouts at him as he tells her that he's sorry, and that science duty calls or something, but she improvises a plan B and turns to Bucky where he begrudgingly gets routine maintenance done on his arm.  
  
"Jaaaames," she sing-songs, hopefully strolling over to him. "My buddy! My pal!"  
  
"Not happening, sweetheart."  
  
"You don't even know what I was going to say," she smiles, sweetly. He gives her a pointed frown as she hops up to take a seat on the workbench next to him, and pats him on the shoulder. She knocks over a wrench and some cork-screwy looking instrument with her behind, while a handful of nails scatter across the floor, but she maintains her directive over Tony's audible frustration. "Me and you," she begins, staring intently for moment until it hits her. "Oh! We could be Gomez and Morticia! It'd be perfect!" She holds her hand up, basking in her own brilliance and waiting for him to meet her, but he commits the ultimate of ultimate insults and leaves her hanging there.  
  
"Well, when you put it like that," he deadpans.  
  
_What a wiener._  
  
Darcy fights past her annoyance (because for real, All Hallows Eve is serious business), and tries to focus on the bigger picture.  
  
"You've been back in the land of the living all this time and you haven't watched The Addams Family yet, have you? Are you kidding me?" She has the most perturbed look on her face as she smacks Stark in the arm, his steady hand beginning to waiver on the soldering iron he's using to work carefully on the inside of Bucky's bionics. "This is an egregious volition! What the hell have you guys been doing up here?"  
  
"Comparing our armories?" Tony replies, unfazed.  
  
She pulls out her tablet from her messenger bag, tells them adamantly about having some _flippin' priorities_ , and hastily pulls up Netflix to get the party started. Barnes starts to squirm and give her some guff about how he's not watching a damn thing, but he stops, affronted, as soon as she starts cracking up, completely undeterred.  
  
"I'm sorry, who's arm is laying ripped open on a table and not going anywhere anytime soon? Oh, that's right. You. Tough tater tots, my dude." He narrows his gaze and makes a bid to appeal to his mechanic.  
  
"You gonna sit there and just let this happen?" he asks, Brooklyn accent creeping on the edge of every word.  
  
"Definitely. Morticia's a babe."  
  
Bucky fusses, grumbles, and protests, but is trapped and unable to escape until the movie, its sequel, and a poignant lecture on how magnificent young Wednesday is, are all finished. He runs for his life as soon as he's able, but by then, it hardly matters. Darcy still won.  
  
She makes a mental note to personally start her own list for The Scowly Soldier, similar to the one Steve has going, for all the important things he needs to catch up on from the last few decades (significantly more Rick Rolling included), and gives Tony a well earned, diabolical fist bump when he's out of sight. But that's all strictly on a need-to-know basis.  
  
  
  
  
**_vi._** [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421813)  
  
Thor is set to leave for several days to attend to some important matters on Asgard, at noon on a Friday, when Darcy hightails it in a sprint to the roof of the tower from R &D on explicit orders to pass off Tony's latest brainchild, primed and ready for anything in its path - interdimensional travel included. Technologically speaking, no matter how much Stark refuses to believe it, the thing (no matter how cutting edge for us) must be Stone Age material in comparison to what the Odinson is accustomed to back home. Yet, one of the most admirable things about the big guy is that he's not a complainer, and always graciously accepts any gadgets (food, clothing, books, small animals, whatever) that are put in front of him. Darcy imagines that she'd kind of enjoy playing with fossils in a museum too.  
  
The predicament that made this particular device Tony's pet project recently though, wasn't to do with it's advancement per say, but rather the durability. As Jane had explained to her previously, the newest Starkpad on the market, while the best of the best, is way too flimsy to withstand the force and day-to-day handling of their resident thunder god. Whether an inadvertent placement under Mjolnir, or case most recent, an upsetting death on Temple Run, it's game over and in smithereens pretty much instantaneously. After a bit a tinkering on Iron Man's part, however, the _'lightning edition'_ upgraded mockup is a thing of indestructible beauty that, after some serious whining, Darcy gets the privilege of beta testing. Yeah, sure, the apps are great, the video quality is incredible, and there's virtually zero buffering time on everything, but _holy cow,_ talk about sturdy.  
  
Rolled over with a car? No problem.  
  
Shot with an exploding arrow? Puh-lease.  
  
Put in front of the Winter Soldier? Well, he crushes three of them without breaking a sweat, but Tony says that Thor's (probably) not going to try and roll it up in a ball on purpose, and it passes that test too.  
  
Darcy knows she's cutting it close when she makes it out the bay doors, because Foster is already backing up to give her man some room for takeoff, but she reaches for the Avenger anyway, thinking he'll stop the call to open the Bifrost, but he definitely doesn't. A split second after she makes a grab for his arm, she's blinks and she in the air above the tower. Then the city. Then the entire Western Hemisphere. Then, like a dream, she's swirling among the stars.  
  
Thor momentarily looks like he obviously hasn't a clue how he snagged additional baggage on his take off, but when he realizes Darcy has hitched a ride, he gives a hearty laugh and appears overjoyed to have the company. He hangs onto her tight in his grasp, keeping her from slipping away into the void of nothingness, while the Rainbow Bridge shimmers bright and beautiful around them, leading straight to their destination. Darcy tries her hardest to take it all in as she goes, from the terrifying feeling of pure weightlessness, to the vastness of deep space as far as the eye can see, but in what seems like only seconds, her feet find something solid and she's greeted with a booming voice as her stomach tries desperately to meet up with the rest of her body.  
  
"Darcy of Midgard. We meet at long last."

Her hair is in knots, her glasses are long gone, and she hopes she's not being totally rude and defying Asgardian customs by gaping at the all-seeing Heimdall that's standing seven feet tall in front of her, but regardless, the new and improved Starkpad is still in hand as Thor enthusiastically declares he must give her the grand tour, and there isn't even a crack from the pressure intensity of travel, so she figures that's got to count for something.  
  
  
  
  
_**vii.**_ [(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=140421923)  
  
Since Barnes makes it clear that he's too cool to take part in her marvelous duos costume idea, Darcy is left to fly solo, scouring YouTube for the precise hair tutorial she needs and checking every rack at the thrift shop two blocks away by Macy's, before showing up at Tony's penthouse on the night of the 31st as awesome cultural icon, Rosie the Riveter. She's pretty proud of what she's thrown together just in the nick of time, but Pepper dressed up as Teppi Heddren in horror classic The Birds (complete with blood and attack crows) is a sight to behold and outdoes everyone, while Jane and Thor take the cake of the whole party as a team. Decked out in matching poster boards hanging from their necks with string, Thor - the most indulgent of boyfriends throughout the Nine Realms - is aptly atomic number 90 on the periodic table, Thorium, while next to him, number 91, is Jane as Protactinium. It's so clever and so sickeningly cute that Darcy makes sure to take a picture to send to Bruce up in Massachusetts, who she knows will appreciate the humor, then takes a trip to the open bar with Natasha, aka - the fiercest Cleopatra she's ever seen, to get herself a drink and more importantly, hit up some top notch hors d'oeuvres.

She spots Sam mingling around the room full of guests as a zombie, and Clint nearby in a tuxedo t-shirt and sunglasses as Stark of all people, but when Steve comes in shorty after with Barnes trailing behind, Darcy jumps him with a hug and remarks on how quickly he's gown up, channeling Harrison Ford from The Last Crusade, complete with his very own Holy Grail. Tony, naturally suited up in all his Iron Man glory, _of course,_ takes the opportunity as she's beaming with pride to hassle a less than pleased Bucky for the blatant rule breaking.  
  
"Barnes! Where's the costume? No costume, no entry. Is anyone manning the door?"

Skipping what she's sure to be the sorry-not-sorry excuses, Darcy opens up the bottomless pit that is her handbag, and pulls out a pen and an old receipt from a brunch she had with Barton at the Village Inn diner forever ago. She jots down a few words and clips it to the front of Bucky's shirt with a safety pin before he can object, and their host gives her a nod of approval.  
  
"Well played, Lewis," he says, commending her with his flute of champagne. "The Winter Buzzkill may stay."  
  
Barnes grunts when he sees ' _NUDIST ON STRIKE_ ' across his chest in her curvy penmanship, but he doesn't take it off. Then, for whatever reason, somebody assumes it's a good idea to break out the cookie dough flavored vodka.  
  
Darcy has a blast down to mummy wrapping Rogers in toilet paper, watching Attack of the Giant Leeches, and eating her weight in mini Butterfingers, but by two o'clock, she's starting to feel the entirety of her inebriation, and Natasha's asking Bucky to walk her back to her place. It has to be some sort of conspiracy, because when she looks around, suddenly none of the team is anywhere in sight, and she actually kind of feels bad for the guy.  
  
"Your sacrifice tonight doesn't go unnoticed, I know you would've rather had a root canal," she grins at him groggily when they reach her door. "Thanks for suffering through and getting me home without bodily injury." He doesn't comment, but helps her with the lock when she starts to fumble, and gets her inside the entryway. She tries to take it from there - she thinks - but the the guy keeps looking at her with his sulky face, and it's hard to fixate on anything else.  
  
Darcy gets it, truly. It's completely understandable why the man is the way he is, but the thing that consistently gnaws on her is why it even had to happen in the first place. Why Barnes? Why _anyone_? It was remotely fair or justifiable. No, it's so far past awful what he's been through; past sad, past atrocious, and it breaks her heart, and even more so with alcohol flowing through her system. She's attempting to form the words to tell him such, but by the time it gets to her mouth and she has the wherewithal to act, her escort is already making a break for it.  
  
"Eat something greasy when you wake up," he says from the hall. "It'll help." Darcy urges her feet to cooperate and follows him, leaning onto her door frame for support.  
  
"You know, a smart, beautiful woman once told me that people get stuck.. in their cages, when they.. have their.. walls built.. I don't remember right now, but it was very poetic." He shoves his hands in his pockets of his leather jacket and continues to the elevator.  
  
"Goodnight, Darce."  
  
"I'm gonna dig you out of there, Bucky," she calls down the corridor again. "Whether you want it or not." It makes Barnes turn around, just short of his ticket to freedom, but she doesn't let his furrowed expression stop her. "You deserve to be happy. Good people, in this world, deserve to be happy. That's the rule." He smiles at her, nothing cheerful behind it.  
  
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, doll-" he starts, with a frown, but whatever the rest is falls on deaf ears. Darcy meets him where he stands, her victory curls beginning to fall flat, and wraps her arms gently around the curve of his shoulders, burying her face into the crook of his neck. She holds on tight, and while he doesn't move, he's warm and smells remarkably like a combination of fresh laundry, Tony's workshop, and what Darcy thinks is the shooting range upstairs. She gives it a moment to wash over him, before she plants a firm kiss on his cheek and pulls away, High Voltage #14, bright and red, left in her absence.  
  
"Trust me."


	5. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this, but life has a really crappy tendency to through curve balls at the most inopportune of times. I hope you all enjoy and that this has been worth the wait. Thanks a ton for sticking with me :)

_**i**_ _._[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november/set?id=176891637)  
  
The first time that Darcy is introduced to the Hulk up close and personal, and not just by way of secondhand, grainy, stupidly biased FOX News footage, it's a quarter to eight on a Monday morning when she strolls off the elevator toward the labs, limited edition Mew-Mew earbuds blasting Duran Duran, and the nerds scurrying out of her way only a little bit more than usual. Truthfully, with eyes glued to her phone, she doesn't initially realize that much is amiss until she steps on something too crunchy for her normal morning commute, but when she does, _Odin's beard_.

As if a tornado is blowing through the building, sheets of paper and debris fly every which way in a fury of green, while various sections of the lighting are left hanging down and sparking at random from the ceiling, attached only by the flimsiest of wires. Darcy shrieks, but remains frozen, as a chair zooms no less than three inches from her head and breaks into several pieces behind her, taking out a desk or five along with it, because sure, this is her life now. At the noise, Bruce's alter ego locks eyes with her immediately in the otherwise empty corridor, assessing her threat level, and damn if Hungry like the Wolf isn't totally nailing the mood in the most un-hilarious of ways.  
  
She doesn't bother with entertaining the idea of making a run for the emergency stairwell just fifteen measly feet away, unsure if he'd see it has a challenge, and decides instead to slowly drops all of her belongings to the floor before putting both hands up in the most harmless universal gesture possible. To her relief, JARVIS takes the opportunity to calmly give her a situation report over the intercom system.

("Mr Stark is on his way to you, Miss Lewis. Approximately fifty-five seconds out.")  
  
Terror aside, it's a huge consolation to hear, leaving Darcy gathering as much bravery as she can, while the gamma giant suddenly shouts and tears at the walls around her, like he's personally offended by Stark's choice of decor.  
  
" **HULK SMASH STUPID VOICE!** "  
  
_Fifty-five seconds?_ _I got this.  
_

After all, to give credit where it's due, _she_ was the one who single-handedly took on Jane after the historic 2011 Science Binge, wrongly assuming at the time Foster could survive a weekend unsupervised. And _she_ was the one who emerged (relatively) unscathed after fighting toe to toe with the merciless matriarch that is Liz Lewis upon coming home three hours past curfew with a pieced nose back in her freshman year of high school. Hell, she took down friggin' Thor! She could absolutely cross off 'survive a Hulk smash' from her to do list by the end of the day. Besides, there no way this was such a cruel world where she'd have to cash out before she was able to sink her teeth into one more turkey, gruyere and cranberry panini from Sal's Deli. She isn't even caught up on all her shows yet! No, she has shit left to do. _Important_ shit. Chunks of dry wall might be getting way too close for comfort, but Darcy Lewis is definitely (hopefully) not going to be dying today.  
  
"Hey, it's okay, buddy," she tells him pleasantly from where she stands, making no hasty movements. "JARVIS is our friend."  
  
Hulk stops his all out assault on the inside of the building, and pushes past a table in his path with ease like he's batting away an annoying fly. He towers above her at least three times over, wearing a most skeptical look as he approaches, leaving her trembling only a little bit.  
  
" **DARCY?** " he questions with a grunt.  
  
"Yeah.. Yeah, that's right. I'm Darcy."  
  
" **DARCY FRIEND?** "  
  
"Yeah, dude. Best friends."

He looks at her curiously for a moment before picking up a mangled microscope from the wreckage around them, and dropping it heavily into her hands.  
  
" **DARCY SMASH?** "  
  
Darcy hesitates for a moment, uncertain, before she carelessly drops it with a _thud!_ to the ground without a second thought. Roughly $15,000 worth of pieces scatter under torn data schematics, and bits of what were once volumetric flasks and transparent dry erase boards. Hulk huffs in response, then digs through more of the destruction.

" **PUNY SMASH. DARCY SMASH BETTER.** " he says, unimpressed, nudging a cracked computer monitor toward her feet. She picks it up with a smirk, getting the gist of his game, heaving it with all the strength she's got.  
  
When Tony finally finds them, Steve and Bucky hardly a moment behind, Hulk is dropping a filing cabinet at her feet, looking pleased as ever, waiting in anticipation.  
  
" **DARCY SMASH!** "  
  
  
  
  
**_ii._ **[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november_ii/set?id=176891675)  
  
Bucky pulls Darcy away from her DVR recording of Black Sails she's been waiting _forever_ to watch, and leads her to the gun range of Stark Tower for a lesson in firearms not even a week after the priciest play-date known to man, insisting, like the devious jerkface he is, that it's non-negotiable if she wants to keep Tony in the dark about where his new set of custom torque wrenches had gotten to.  
  
"You think he won't see that has you written all over it when he finds them in that fridge stuck in a jello mold?"  
  
"Oh my god, Barnes, _quiet_!" she hisses, checking around the corner, just outside the entrance. "There are ears everywhere in this place! And how'd you even find out about that? I was so covert! I was a master of stealth and secrecy!"

"Do you know who I am, Lewis? How is it you have as little self preservation as Steve?" Darcy snorts, unabashed, and follows him inside, the place deserted except for the two of them.  
  
"I know exactly who you are, Bucko. This whole surly badass trick doesn't fool me for a second, okay?" she says with a soft jab to the shoulder. "Underneath all the sass and good hair, you're like six million percent fluff."  
  
"I've _killed_ people," he clarifies, leading Darcy to their booth. She only rolls her eyes.  
  
"And last night you had my dog curled up on your chest in the common room while you marathoned Ugly Betty and downed like four strawberry milkshakes the size of my head. I don't want to hear it, bub. You're a marshmallow."

Ignoring her banter and turning his attention to the weaponry at hand, Bucky tells her to pay attention and confidently explains the ins and outs of a basic 9MM Glock he's got in front of them, before giving Darcy a demonstration of proper technique and firing multiple times into the paper zombie target he's hung up on the opposite end of the range. She flinches as each round goes off, loud even with earmuffs on, and not needing to see the animated corpse to know he's landed six dead center headshots. Winter Soldier or not, Bucky Barnes is still the best shot the Army has ever enlisted, and she's got to admit, it's damn impressive.  
  
"Well, you're totally on my team when the apocalypse hits," she says as he carefully places the gun in her hands. "But this isn't exactly going to keep the big guy at bay, is it? Bullets practically bounce right off him." Bucky moves to stand behind her, close against her back, and puts his arms over hers to help her aim.  
  
"You know as well as anyone that the Hulk isn't the only threat that's out there. You should be prepared," he tells her seriously.

Darcy couldn't be more uncomfortable standing there, but not at all because of Barnes. Guns have never been her thing, no matter how many life-or-death scenarios she's happened to wander into. It's why she's always preferred a taser, they're just as effective and so much less final. But still, frightening as it is, Bucky wasn't wrong. She _should_ be prepared. And if this is what gets the man out of his apartment and spending time with someone other than his shadow, she was going to suck it up and make it work.  
  
Darcy tries to keep herself from fidgeting too much against Barnes behind her and fires reluctantly down the gallery.  
  
Once.  
  
Twice.  
  
Three times.  
  
Four.  
  
It's completely petrifying and she's sure that her heart's in her throat, but Bucky stands firm and holds her arms steady with his own against the force behind each discharge, reminding her to breathe. Darcy does her best to flatten whatever intimidation she's feeling and calm her raising pulse, but it's easier said than done. It takes focusing on the cool feeling of Bucky's metal arm on hers, rather than the weapon she's holding, to keep her grounded. With her teacher encouragingly pushing her on until the remainder of the clip is empty, the target returns back to them across the mechanical line.  
  
"Look at that," he smiles, snagging it for inspection. She runs her fingers over a small cluster of holes just underneath the printed bulging, bloody eye when he hands it over. "You're a regular Rick Grimes."  
  
  
  
  
_**iii.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november_iii/set?id=176891731)  
  
Darcy is dropping off a stack of forms from the lab in regards to acquiring some new equipment/cotton candy machine, only needing Tony's signature to be approved, when she gets _way_ too into The White Stripes jam playing over her iPhone, and accidentally knocks over an expensive looking power tool in the empty workshop, mid drum solo, on a otherwise uneventful Thursday afternoon. It sets off a excruciating slow motion set of events that she and the bots are powerless to stop, and before she can make any sense of what's happening, the Mark 52 is dismembered, on fire, and Darcy is running to her apartment for cover past confused onlookers, paperwork scattering behind her.  
  
Under the safety of the comforter in her bedroom, she waits nervously with Indy for a good hour for what's sure to be a sudden and forceful retaliation when word of the debacle finally gets out and the text messages start to pour in.  
  
  
_I didn't know it was physically possible for anyone's face was capable of turning that shade of red?? He was almost the same color as the suit??_  
  
_*Fourteen thumbs up emjois*_  
  
_how could u do that without me???!!!!!!! friendship over :(_  
  
_Do you need a place to hide?_  
  
_I don't endorse this. But if I did, I would say thank you for bringing Christmas early._  
  
_A VERY FORMIDABLE PRANK, MY FRIEND!_  
  
_girl, you're officially my hero._  
  
  
Yet, not a word, death threat, or eviction notice from Stark.  
  
Darcy stays watching the clock past midnight, unsure if the team was holding him hostage somewhere for her safety, but it ticks by uneventfully. Minute after minute, she still remains unscathed and in one whole piece. It's - odd, and not like Tony at all, and should make her more worried than it does, but after a handful of days sneaking about the tower to avoid detection, just waiting for the other metaphorical jet propelled boot to drop, Darcy so wrongly begins to assume (mainly due to lack of sleep) that perhaps this is going to be a war fought only with psychological warfare, and that her anxiety alone would be punishment enough for the Man of Iron. Under her unraveling sanity, and inch by inch, she gets bolder and more negligent in her travels. Patient for once in his life, and channeling the spirit of Kevin McCallister, that's when he strikes.  
  
In the dead of night, Stark sets up a contraption right outside her door that she triggers on her way to work the following morning, no longer watching her back with vigilance, and it only takes a second for her to get covered from head to toe in honey and roughly twenty pounds of anchovies.  
  
"Oh come on!" she yells to the vacant hallway, desperately trying to get the dead fish out of her tangled, oozing hair. "I've never even seen you wear that one!"  
  
Darcy deserves it, she guesses, but when Pepper comes to her shortly after, still fuming over her boyfriend's latest last minute escape from meeting her parents, and offering to form an alliance (as well as reaching a whole new level on the Lewis Scale of Fierce), she knows she has to take it. After all, there are some things you just can't let pass you by, and an outstretched hand from Pepper Potts is one of them.

The pair collude together over brunch and end up overriding JARVIS' commands to lock Tony in his workshop for an entire evening without a way to breakout in the most amazing two-for-one retribution special. Though normally not a punishment by any means, when Britney Spears 'Work Bitch' starts blaring over the loud speaker and the lights stay steadily dimming from off to on, it certainly becomes one. Suddenly the underlying, rank smell she can't quite seem to get out of her favorite button down becomes well worth it.  
  
  
  
  
_**iv.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november_iv/set?id=176891758)  
  
Smitten with the big guy, wanting to spread the love, and just a teensy bit hopeful it'd give her room to get some work done in peace, Jane takes it upon herself to set Darcy up with one of the lower level lab techs on a Friday, completely against sacred girl code, leading to quite the annoying morning of non-stop nagging and a long-winded 'Owen is really nice, he's been asking me about you for ages' spiel that makes Darcy want to cut her losses and jump out the window.

She knows her boss means well, and truly, the thought is appreciated, however misplaced it might be, but this felt a lot like pity and Darcy Lewis wasn't about that life. Yeah, it's been awhile since her whole fling with Ian, if you could even call it that, but she was generally happy being on her own, not having to answer to anybody but herself. Besides, her life wasn't exactly conventional. It was pretty much a huge cosmic joke, but leave it to Jane Foster to never take no for an answer.  
  
"I have literally never even seen this dude before," Darcy says, irritated, as she flips through her data packet with a orange highlighter, taking a much needed break from marking the significant bits as she goes to draw smiling bilgesnipe in the margins. "And if he's so super interested, why hasn't he asked me about me himself?"

"He's probably just shy. You sometimes can come off a little..."  
  
"Terrifyingly awesome?" she suggests, coloring in the length of the imposing antlers.  
  
"I was going to say unapproachable, but yes."  
  
After some retail bribery (because hello, she's got standards), Darcy ultimately relents, meeting the guy later that night at a tiny candle-lit table, in one of the upper east side's most exclusive Italian restaurants, Vivolo. It goes so well that she ditches him before dessert, faking a major science catastrophe, that no she really does _not_ need help with, and takes a cab back to the tower. She bypasses her place all together and intrudes on Rogers and Barnes having 'man time' in the living room, desiring some actual company, and totally deserving a tiny peek and some insane superhero biceps for her troubles.  
  
"I love Jane and her big brain more than life itself, but for someone so smart, she has exactly zero matchmaking skills," she says, throwing off her heels and tossing them next to the leather ottoman. "Seriously, it's a good thing that Thor fell out of the sky, directly in the path of our van, or she'd be doomed to spend the rest of eternity single."  
  
"Didn't go well, I take it?" Steve asks, offering her a beer as she plops down between them on the couch, clutching a quilt around herself like a cape. She chugs a hard apple cider down to drown her woes that gives Rogers pause.  
  
"Let's just say he barely took a second to look at my face, and may or may not have inquired as to how real my boobs were before the salads even arrived. Classy, right? She sure knows how to pick em." Bucky's eyes turn hard beside her and Steve goes all righteous without missing a beat.  
  
"What'd you say his name was?"  
  
"Whatever you're thinking, forget about it," she laughs, stifling a yawn. "It's fine, honestly. The worst thing that happened is that I can't feel my toes from those stupid shoes, and my manicotti didn't have enough cheese. I think I'll live this time, but I promise I'll let you know if I change my mind and want him maimed and fearing for his life, okay?"  
  
The pair hardly looks persuaded, but Steve drops it and they binge watch a good four hours of Lost together before she calls it a night and crawls into bed, not bothering to remove the last of her makeup _._ She wakes up in the morning only to the unyielding buzzing notifications on her phone from Jane, demanding to know what the heck happened to make her date waste no time in putting in a transfer to Stark Industries' Jersey City division _._  
  
_Supersoldiers._ _Supersoldiers happened._  
  
_Ovaries calm thyself_.  
  
  
  
  
_**v.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november/set?id=176891791)  
  
Darcy makes an emergency trip to the hospital wing on a Wednesday evening, after two days of a bout of continual, _ridiculous_ pain, when she abruptly passes out on the common area's kitchen floor while trying to make herself a cup of soup, drenching her favorite flannel with a huge splatter of chicken noodle on the way down. Thor is at her side at once, epic battle of Planets vs. Zombies forgotten nearby, just in time to stop her head from meeting the sharp corner of the quartz counter top, like an absolute pro, but it's the last thing she remembers before losing consciousness entirely.

When she eventually comes to, Darcy's got no idea how long she's been out, only knowing that the space prince is carrying her from the elevator, one arm sturdy against the back of her shoulders and the other warped underneath her knees, while Bruce is checking her pupils in total doctor mode, showing up quickly thanks to an urgent Avenger-wide alert, apparently. His hands feel cool and comforting against the heat she's radiating, but _good lord_ , her stomach feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out.  
  
"Vitals, JARVIS?" Banner asks, feeling her forehead and placing pressure on her side. She whines immediately, trying not to cry, but things are so foggy, both in her head and with her vision, she's not entirely sure if she's successful.

("Body temperature is 103.4 degrees and climbing. BP's 190/110.")  
  
"Seriously, this isn't necessary," she murmurs half-heartily, trying not to squirm against the throbbing. "Just give me some Motrin and put me back in bed. I'll be okay." Darcy tries to make the words sound as casual and convincing as possible, but her voice is cracking and if the front Thor's shirt is any indication, the tears are flowing freely now, not exactly helping her case. Tony's AI takes the opportunity to betray her, obviously displeased.  
  
("As I've been trying to inform you, Miss Lewis, my scans indicate you've been experiencing acute appendicitis for the last forty-eight hours via viral infection. In the time you've sent me to privacy settings, it seems your appendix has now ruptured.")  
  
_Traitor._

As they reach the med bay on the 61st floor, she's gripping tighter to her transport and wincing from even the slightest movement, but if JARVIS had been disappointed with her, he's got nothing on the look Thor has on his face.  
  
"Darcy, if you've been unwell all this time, you should have said something," he tells her softly. The man has a weak spot for crying females, but the sternness he manages to convey doesn't go unnoticed. "Why would you not seek help?"  
  
She wants to argue with him, she really does. To tell him that Jane needs her on standby for the break she knows she's about to make on the Convergence, that she has a standing training date with Natasha, and that a few cramps didn't seem all that significant when the team just finished a back-to-back battle with a legion of Doom-bots and whatever that killer octopus thing was, but every fiber of her being feels like it's on fire, and Darcy is relatively sure if she opens her mouth again, it'll only be to vomit. 

Bruce, ever her bestie, crouches down next to her, letting her hold tight onto his hand, and vouches for Dr. Perez and his staff when Thor sets her down on an empty stretcher.

"You need surgery. Right now," he tells her calmly, keeping at her side as she's rolled into another room. "It's not an option, and it can't wait, but I promise that you're in good hands."

Darcy doesn't have a doubt that what Bruce says is true and just him being there, speaking to her with ease, is enough to lift her spirits. When he cracks a joke about making sure they give her the good drugs, her anxiety is practically gone, and before she knows it, she's made it through the whole fiasco and is in recovery.

Being forced into four days of overnight observation afterward is (almost) the worst part, as the stir crazy is beginning to set in, leaving her itching to get back to her routine, but Clint plants himself on the chair nearest her bed and vows to keep her company until she's cleared to be discharged, against the better advisement of all her nurses. Steve even stops by to watch the extended editions of Lord of the Rings (which, funny, nobody seems to complain about). And nicer still, a beautiful vase of purple posies end up on her bedside during the duration of her stay that, for whatever reason, nobody fesses up to, along with her favorite sweater and a pair of winter socks for her feet that have been absolutely freezing.  
  
  
  
  
_**vi.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november_vi/set?id=176891824) **  
**

Darcy becomes internet famous (by proxy, if that counts) on a Friday after The Daily Bugle pisses her off for the last damn time with their latest news headline, ' _AVENGERS: HEROES OR HELLIONS?_ ', attached to the nastiest three page op-ed she's ever read on the team, by certified asshat, Jonah J. Jameson. It comes after a tricky take down of a handful of rouge AIM lackeys trying to blow Harlem to smithereens a few days prior over whatever delusional cause they're currently rallying behind, and for goodness' sake, she's had enough of this one-sided, false reporting garbage to last her a lifetime. Leaving The Bean, iced mocha and chocolate croissant in hand now that her appetite has returned with a vengeance, Darcy decides she's going to do the sensible thing and take matters into her own hands when she returns to the tower, SHIELD no longer lurking behind corners, threatening to dissuade her by 'any means necessary.'  
  
As the leading expert and reigning queen in all things current and pop culture, she knows that in this digital age she's living, when it comes down to it, what people really want is to be involved in everybody else's business. Especially those under the constant watchful eye of, oh, the entire world. Whether it's what goes on behind the scenes with superheroes, or what the latest A-list celebrity is eating for breakfast, the public wants all the pictures, tweets, and dubsmashes it can get their claws on. It wants to feel included and involved. So, what else can Darcy do but give it to them? But not like the paparazzi, and certainly not like Jameson. Rather, on her own terms, shining a spotlight on the incredibly dorky, regular, and wonderful people that her Super Friends are. A little fact that The Daily Bugle tends to shove under the rug with their (mostly) third-rate journalism.  
  
It takes approximately ten seconds to set up the Instagram account and upload her first post: a candid photo of Thor that she snapped a few weeks beforehand, post sparring session with the gang, her favorite Ludwig filter doing him all sorts of favors - not that he needs it - _#godofthunder #hairgoals #musclesfordays #soworthy._ She follows it up with several shots of Clint and Natasha watching reruns of Parks and Recreation on the sofa with her dog snoozing between them in the common room, a close up of Steve's helmet, and another of Tony up late one night in his workshop using a blow torch on Falcon's wings as DUM-E and U standby, ready to offer assistance.  
  
In less than five hours and roughly thirty posts, avenging.aint.easy has 1.2 million followers. By the end of the week, the page is toppling Kim Kardashian, and she's fielding calls from all the major news outlets to get an interview with the person responsible. Pepper personally comes to her door informing Darcy that her title and pay have been upgraded to the Avengers personal social media coordinator after a front page article in the New York Post, praising the 'backstage peek.'  
  
_Suck on that, Jameson!_  
  
  
  
  
_**vii.**_[(++)](http://www.polyvore.com/november_vii/set?id=176891853) _ **  
**_

Thanksgiving falls on a Thursday near the end of the month, along with Darcy's own realization that there's no way in good conscious she can go home to Williamsburg to celebrate like she had originally planned, leaving her friends all alone for one of the best holidays of the year. She doesn't know how she didn't notice beforehand, but with Tony and Pepper jetting to Malibu for some much needed rest and relaxation, Wilson visiting his mom in DC, and Thor handling other matters off world, the rest of the team was going be in for a day left completely to their own devices, and if Darcy had to guess, a dinner consisting of no more than some chicken Ramen and Bagel Bites. It's an unacceptable thing for a group of superheroes that have done so much for so many others, and it totally isn't going to happen on her watch.

At the last minute (literally as she finishes packing her suitcase), and much to her parent's dismay, Darcy decides that she's staying put in New York and takes it upon herself to concoct the most amazing feast possible, which in and of itself is definitely going to be one of the biggest challenges she's ever faced. She has absolutely no idea how to cook a turkey, or even where find enough Butterball's on such short notice to feed a group that could eat a small family out of house and home, but in enlisting JARVIS' help, she knows she can emerge triumphant and still make the day special. Was her stomach already protesting missing out on her dad's green bean casserole and fresh outta the oven blueberry cobbler? Like crazy, without a doubt, but Darcy knows the right thing to do when it's staring at her in the face, so she puts on her metaphorical big girl pants and deals with the inevitable guilt trip long enough to watch the annual parade with her mom over FaceTime that's happening not but two streets over.  
  
"Look, I want to preface this by saying that I'm not judging," Liz says, with a quick sip out of her coffee mug. Off screen, Darcy can hear her dad bustling about the kitchen, Crackers and Jellyroll, the dynamic corgi duo, very audibly underfoot, begging for scraps of whatever he's willing to share. "Call me Planet Fitness, because this is a judgement free zone, okay? But by any chance, does you not coming home for Thanksgiving for the first time, well, ever, have something to do with Iron Man?"  
  
"Oh my god, mom. Stop it. You're making me miss Snoopy," she groans, nodding toward the television. "Can we please change the subject? Talking about this has been giving me an ulcer."  
  
"All I'm saying is dad and I... We've had time to process and we aren't mad, if that's what you're worried about! You're an adult, perfectly capable of making adult decisions. You could fulfill your dream of finally becoming one of the Boxcar Children and we'd still love and support you."  
  
"Like I said the last eight hundred times, _it was a joke_ , I swear." Darcy struggles painfully for the words. "Tony and I are not, nor have we ever been... involved. He's my boss's boss, I hardly know the guy. My dumb friends are just tragically misguided and think that they're funny." She whips a small throw pillow at Hawkeye's head out of view as he cackles from a stool at the breakfast bar to her right where he's devouring a stack of English muffins. "And say what you will about those kids, but they solved _all_ the mysteries!"  
  
"Well, you've still got plenty of time to rethink your career prospects, dear."  
  
"And give up this view? I'm not sure, tough choices," Darcy laughs, flipping the orientation on her camera to give her mom a glimpse of the city's bright skyline beyond the common room's entertainment center and past the floor-to-ceiling window. It's a beautiful, albeit freezing morning, the sun already shining over East River in the distance, and not a cloud in sight as far as she can see. It's practically post card worthy, she thinks, as Liz sighs while Jellyroll joins her on the sofa, burrowing into a blanket of cartoon fire hydrants and rolled up newspapers.  
  
"This is the moment where I officially have no sympathy for you, I hope you know that. I'm going to eat every last bit of Grandma Jo's stuffing and not even feel bad that you missed out. When everybody asks where you are, I'm just going to tell them I've got no clue who they're talking about and that we have no daughter."  
  
"Oh please, everybody knows I'm your favorite child. I'm the only one in this family who accepts your Kevin Bacon obsession and gets all your dated 70's references."  
  
"I don't know," Liz tells her, as the Pillsbury Dough Boy balloon travels up 34th Street on the tv screen. "Crackers sat through an entire marathon of Tremors with me yesterday and didn't even snag any of my chips when I had my back turned. I think she might be trying to dethrone you. It's possible she already has, I'm sorry."

Darcy gives her love and apologies to her parents for the bazillionth time by the start of the Kennel Club's National Dog show at noon, and promptly sets to work with JARVIS on Operation Stretch Pants. Sure, she has to toss out the first batch of dinner rolls because she gets distracted and they burn, and the mashed potatoes don't come out nearly as good as her pop's, but in the end, she's got to say that she's pretty damn proud of how well all the pieces come together.  
  
Clint almost cries when he sees the spread she's laid out in the dining area when everything is ready, and as if she somehow stepped into a portal to an alternate dimension, Bucky actually makes conversation at the table and Bruce sits through the whole thing without trying to make an early escape. For a moment, Jane and Steve look like they're going to battle for the last piece of pumpkin pie as the night winds down (her mom's secret recipe has that effect on people), but Cap's too sweet to let things escalate that far and concedes as Natasha gives her a smirk across an array of empty plates.  
  
"Well done, _malyshka_."


	6. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gigantic thanks to each and every one of you for the major outpouring of love, especially during such a long absence that I have absolutely no excuses for. I can hardly wrap my head around all the kind words, kudos (holy freaking cannoli!!!!!!), and bookmarks. You guys are the real superheroes! 
> 
> I also just wanted to take a second to mention that over the last couple weeks, with a sudden drive to continue this story, I've gone back and updated each chapter and section with a bit more detail. It's a grand total of a several thousand words extra, so if you're interested, do check it out. I feel like it makes for a much smoother read, and heck, after such a long hiatus, you will probably need the refresher. Enjoy!

_**i.**_ [(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478540)

Snowmageddon blows into New York City, along with the rest of the northeastern seaboard, late on a Tuesday night, bringing freezing cold temperatures with it, and over thirty massive inches of the powdery white stuff by morning. It completely transforms the entire landscape to look more like Narnia and less like Manhattan in just a matter of hours, and according to national weather reports, it ranks as the state's biggest blizzard on record since 1996 by leaps and bounds. Hunkered down in her apartment well before sunrise, work already canceled and the labs closed until further notice (' _bless you, Miss Potts!'_ ), Darcy embraces the sight from her window in her Thor slippers like a ritual as the sounds of Bing Crosby play over the radio.

Growing up with Virginia roots, as opposed to anything further south and more tropical, there has always been something magical in her mind about winter, especially given the current blanket of quiet from the initial overnight snowfall, said buildup relatively free from footprints and touched only by the warm glow of frosted streetlights. Something summer just can't contend with, no matter how nice it is to sink her feet into the sand at the beach and watch the waves roll in. Steaming cups of hot chocolate, being able to pile on the layers, and stretching out like a cat in front of a roaring fireplace has always made her feel at peace during these chilly months. Renewed even. This year is hardly an exception, and finally with what seems to be a momentary reprieve of big bads causing trouble on the horizon (and, ya know, the whole city-wide shutdown aside), she knows that even evil isn't immune to a good snow day every now and again.

After enjoying the extremely rare luxury of having zero science related explosions to tend to on a weekday morning, and Jane already fed, watered, and moping over being booted and exiled from her 'safe place' for the next few hours, Darcy bundles up in her thickest, faux fur parka, and drags the team outside for what she promises will be the most legendary, super-powered snowball fight of the millennium. Yet, underestimating how much nearly three feet of snow actually is and unable to navigate through it (let alone dodge anything that Barton throws at the back of her head), the whole outing quickly turns into noble-as-ever Captain Rogers leading the charge to help every person their side of the Hudson River, as she really should have had the good sense to foresee. From digging out lost cars and making the roads accessible again, to restoring lost power and delivering necessities to families and senior citizens in need, it's the most productive snow day Darcy has ever had a hand in, and by the afternoon, she's too tired and frozen to the bone for anything but getting off her feet and digging into a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches - toasted to perfection and a side of ketchup for dipping.  
  
While the rest of the gang works their way up the last stretch of Park Avenue, and what looks like the remainder of Saint Bart's underneath the mountain of flurries, Darcy gets in one last truly epic makeshift sled run on Steve's shield with some overjoyed neighborhood kids before heading back to the tower, Bucky following beside her. Insisting that cryo really isn't as fun as it sounds, he throws some next level sass about the high chances of her getting stuck in a snowbank if she treks out on her own, and has the friggin' audacity to criticize her fuzzy wolf hat that's helped keep her warm on every blustery day since she picked him up at a rest stop back in 2002 during a family road trip to Colorado. Just for the lip, when they return and make it out of the elevator from the lobby, Darcy decides to put the jerk to work, dragging him to a linen closet on the communal floor filled with a variety of spare blankets, goose down pillows, and Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Bring what you can to the living room and work your way out from the couch. I'll get us some lunch going awhile, sound good?"  
  
"Uh, we on housekeeping duty?" he asks, casting a skeptical eye at her.  
  
"Blanket forts, my dude! You are hereby the architect. It's the most important of important jobs, but better yet, it's your punishment for insulting my goods, so save it with the cranky face, alright? You do the crime, the do the time. Thems the breaks."  
  
"Pretty sure that hat's the real crime. You do know you don't need to wear it inside, right?"  
  
"It's called fashion, Barnes. I wouldn't expect a grandpa like _you_ to understand."  
  
"I know what it's called and fashion sure as shit ain't the word," he laughs, trying to pluck it from her head. "How about you let me take that thing off your hands and save you the burden. There's a flamethrower over in the weapons locker that should get the job done. It's the least I can do."  
  
"You touch Gus, you die. Slowly and painfully," she tells him grimly, slapping his metal hand away. Barnes looks downright appalled.  
  
_"It has a name??"_  
  
"Of course he has a name, he's been in my life for like fifteen years - now listen up, because you aren't getting out of this. The main objective of any good blanket fort is ultimate comfort, so the squishier, fluffier, and softer you make it, the better." Darcy shoves a handful of bedding at Bucky as his grump meter rises quite noticeably into the warning zone. He sighs, disgruntled, but remains in place as the heap in his hands gains several velvety, maroon throws from the highest shelf, and a bedspread with golden embroidery along the edges. "Coverage is also key. We're obviously going to need an easy access point, but we can't have any exposed bits or it throws off the entire vibe and leaves room for intruders. Basically, we _want_ to be cocooned."  
  
"Easy enough. Anything else, Oh Fashionable One?" Darcy huffs, tossing a large pair of plush pillows shaped like the helmet to Tony's armor and an angry cartoon Hulk face on top. Bucky can barely see the beady-eyed predator staring back at him over the pile.

"Leave no snack left behind is pretty much the most sacred of all fort commandments, but that's my department, so no, that should about do it."

Barnes surveys the available building materials for a moment, then gives her a nod of agreement before disappearing, while Darcy goes to make their sandwiches and raid the community kitchen for all the necessary junk food they'll require. She's asking JARVIS to queue up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on the flatscreen against the far wall and scrolling aimlessly through her phone when Bucky meets her not but fifteen minutes later in the living area. He gives her a sly smirk when she pauses, mouth full of Doritos and eyes going wide at the bungee cords, duct tape, switchblade, and a string of Christmas lights he's brought with him.

"Sweetheart," he drawls, "if you're gonna do a job, you might as well do it right." It takes the cake for the biggest understatement ever.  
  
Weaponry and all, Mr 'I could kill you with this shoelace if I really wanted to' creates her the coziest masterpiece like it's no feat whatsoever - the be all, end all, of all other forts, completely ruining her for any other fort building ventures in the future, she just _knows_ it. It's carefully crafted, spanning half the room, and by god, it's so beautiful that she vows to never take it down and move there permanently, apartment be damned. Bucky looks (rightly) smug taking in her praises and is sorta preening over the whole affair, not even giving a single complaint when she sprawls outs on the sofa with her polar bear sock covered feet in his lap.

Hours later, under the cover of their sanctuary, Potter comes face to face with his Hungarian Horntail during the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Darcy breaks out her last two packs of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans for a true test of strength.

"Bet you can't get through the whole box," she smiles sweetly as Harry calls to his broom.  
  
"Of jellybeans?" Bucky scoffs. "You're on. Stakes?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something..."  
  
And she definitely does.  
  
In fact, the Winter Soldier, glowering from a booger/grass/soap flavored candy combo, and Gus sitting snug atop his head, remains Darcy's phone background indefinitely.

 

  
  
_**ii.**_[(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478662) _ **  
**_

Darcy resists the urge to go out and splurge the whole length of 5th Avenue, early on a Friday morning, when her extraordinarily generous holiday bonus from Stark Industries payroll department is deposited into her bank account, the balance reaching heights and gaining commas that she never thought she'd witness apart from her life on The Sims. Instead, it's goodbye 'treat yo self!' and hello to two tickets for her folks to the Bahamas on an all-inclusive cruise for Christmas, via the fanciest liner of the seas.

Darcy would love to say the gift is purely because they're the best parents on all of Midgard and she really just wanted to do something nice for them, which hey, they totally are and she absolutely does! But on the flip side, their questions have been increasing as of late, and she's had to Bruce Lee dodge each and every one of them so fast that it's starting to make her head spin. Trying to downplay the whole ordeal and explain to the pair that she was out of town at a sciencey something with Jane while the tower was evacuated over live television earlier in the week was the most recent debacle, nearly giving her away entirely. And for what? Some incredibly stupid Justin Hammer lackeys who were deluded enough to think they were a match for Captain America and an actual thunder god? _As if._

For the greater good or not, keeping her mom and dad at an arm's length the longer she resides in the unofficial/official Avenger headquarters is downright exhausting. The guilt is strong, and there's only so many excuses and redirecting that she can drop semi-convincingly every time they chat. She has to hand it to Natasha, as the whole double-life life is a hard business that she now knows she is so _not_ cut out for. But a much deserved trip for her folks, well, she decides it's an acceptable middle ground for her conscious.

When the envelope finally reaches the elder Lewis' mailbox two mornings later, jammed packed with the tickets and itinerary of available events (including the parasailing she took the liberty of signing them up for, _lulz!_ ), her dad calls her at once, likely still wandering the house in his bathrobe. She catches his tone immediately and takes a seat at her work desk to tuck in for the conversation.  
  
"Darcy, what in the _world_  is-"  
  
"Let me just stop you right there, Pops," she interrupts, quickly skimming over the post-it note on her computer screen of bullet points she made to lead with. "I wanted to do something nice for you guys, okay? You've been talking about it forever without the follow through, so don't argue, pack your bags, have Aunt Abbie watch the dogs, and enjoy your Christmas present from your super cool kid."

"Darcy..."  
  
"Father..."  
  
" _Darcy!"_  
  
_"Father!"_  
  
"This is without a doubt the most heartfelt gesture of all time, but it's too much," he tells her. She can practically see the crease between his eyes grow like that time came home from Bridgette Montgomery's house with violet hair in tenth grade. "All I was hoping for was some quality downtime with my kid and another Star Wars tie to add to my collection - not some fancy getaway to the Caribbean."  
  
"Oh, for real? Dang, those tickets are actually like ten million percent nonrefundable. Oops!"  
  
"Honey. Honestly.."

"Relax, old man. You're still gonna to get your Christmas wish. I'll be picking you up from the airport when you get back after New Years for a couple days of work-free festivities. And spoiler alert! I think I might have found you the best Yoda tie ever made. Weep with joy you will!"  
  
"I love you, scout. Hands down the best offspring I could have ever hoped for."  
  
"Yeah, okay. I'm a real winner. Congrats on your child rearing abilities." Her dad lets out a defeated, loving sigh, and calls for his wife over the line.  
  
"Elizabeth, please come and take a look what your daughter has done!"

Darcy has to hold the phone away from her ear for a good three minutes until her mom stops screeching in excitement and 'oh my god's. It's worth every penny, and thankfully, her personal shame train finally starts to ease on the breaks.

 

 

 **_iii._** [(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478727)

Darcy and Sam hole up in her apartment early on a Monday evening for a much needed 'Whine & Cheese' session, after an especially hectic few days of some disastrous cosmic microwave experiments, supervillain bashing throughout Staten Island, and whatever internal team/lab conflicts that have been afoot. Basically, it's their bi-weekly excuse to get together and bitch about whatever is grinding their gears, eat a ridiculous amount of smoked gruyere and specially aged cheddar, and unwind like a pair of semi-normal people. That is, as normal as anyone in their inner circle can be, anyway.

All in all, it's a nice routine they've fallen into recently (end of the world events notwithstanding), as Sam is a natural counselor and Darcy loves having someone to vent to who genuinely understands the struggles of her Avenger-laden day-to-day life, without the constant need to censor herself in fear that she's letting any mega-secret info slip (plus, the cheese, obviously).

Sure, she has Jane, and she'll _always_ have Jane, but genius or not, the woman has enough trouble tearing her brain away from the stars for more than a few minutes at a time, or trying to open up theoretical wormholes, let alone listen to heated complaints about Tonya in Human Resources and her dislike for Darcy's 'complete disregard for professional workplace attire.' No, it's all astroparticals this, analytical models that! But Wilson? He listens, gives her feedback, laughs at her dad-worthy puns, and always brings the most amazing gouda. It's beyond refreshing.  
  
Turning on his _Ladies of the Eighties_ playlist and popping several pieces of havarti in his mouth (a true man after her own heart), Sam gets the ball rolling and asks her what's been happening in her neck of woods at their home base.  
  
"I vaguely heard about Clint getting the handle of a screwdriver in the face while in the lab yesterday? Was that legit? Please tell me there is video?"

"Dude, I don't get it!" Darcy says, exasperated, taking a seat on the stool next to him at the kitchen counter. "The guy drops in from out of the damn ceiling, scares me half to death, and somehow I'm in the wrong for the angle at which the thing flew out of my hand. Not fair!" He laughs and pours her a pretty generous glass of merlot while she snags a couple crackers and makes what can only be described as an adult Lunchable, towering high with pepperoni and herb-crusted mozzarella.

"If it makes you feel any better, Tony spent most of the night smearing superglue along the air ducts through almost the entire length of R&D, and said something about high-intensity itching powder. But I was sworn to secrecy, so you didn't hear that from me." Darcy smiles at what will inevitably come and crosses her fingers that she's around when it goes down.

"It does, it _really_ does. Thank you for that. What about you though? Any progress with Helen's assistant?"

"I think I'm going to have to purposely need severe medical attention for that woman to slow down for five seconds and notice that I've been trying to ask her out for the last month."

"Sounds like somebody is losing their game," she sings.

"Lewis, my game has never been better. Besides, when was your last date again? Circa London, 2013?"

"Now come on, that's a low blow, Wilson! We're supposed to be comrades!" Sam shakes his head and gestures a pretzel accusingly at her.

"You've got enough of Mother Russia on your side these days, kid."

"Don't be jealous that Nat likes me best. We've bonded over breakfast food and K-Pop in a way no one will ever understand or be able to replicate."

"Sweet, naive, _oblivious_ , little Darcy.." he starts. Darcy rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink out of a silly straw.

"We both know that I am none of those things."

"Just - please, when the time comes, I want you to think back on this conversation and bask in the awesomeness that is Falcon and his all-knowing ability to see things coming from five miles away."

"Dude, what are you even on about? You've only had half a rum and Coke, get it together! You cannot be trashed before I tell you about Bianca in Accounting," she tells him sternly.

"Girl, spill."

 

 

 _**iv.**_  [(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478768)

It's an early Saturday afternoon, Jane left in Thor's (capable?) supervision and Indy napping soundly in Barton's care, when Darcy takes her first impromptu day-trip with Captain America in a sporty red Audi that they may or may not have secretly borrowed out of Stark's personal garage. It's to nowhere truly out of the way, just down to Pennsylvania to see the traveling Monet exhibit at the Museum of Art in Philadelphia, but she's thrilled and totally jumps at the chance when Rogers offers her a ticket that Sharon had to give up at the last minute to fly back to Berlin on 'urgent government business.'  
  
Darcy knows it's a date that he had been looking forward to for quite sometime, but if Steve is upset about the outcome, he doesn't show it, letting her control the radio the whole way down and teach him all the words of the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song ( _'Steve, you can't set foot in Philly without being able to sing it! It's the LAW!'_ ). In return, she lets him have most of the sour gummy worms in her purse.

They reach the city in just over an hour and after some extensive googling in the right direction, they stop for a pair of 'the world's best cheesesteaks,' and a quick look at the Rodin before heading over to their destination on the lower end of Benjamin Franklin Parkway. When they finally make it, banners hanging outside the entrance to showcase the event, Darcy stops him from going any further with a tug on the arm.  
  
"Before we go inside, there's something very important we have to do," she insists. Steve, patient and wonderful as always, doesn't hesitate.

"Following your lead, navigator," he smiles. "What's up?"

"We can't come here and not run up the Rocky steps like we're in our own training montage. We just can't. I won't allow it," she says. Steve laughs under his signature 'I'm incognito' baseball cap, and takes a good look at the stairs scaling up to the building that Stallone once so effortlessly conquered. Darcy thinks it's quite a fitting thing, as it's one of the first film series that he sought her out to explain.

"This is the only reason you agreed to come, isn't it?" he asks. Darcy grins at him and pulls out her phone, necessary soundtrack ready to be played at the push of a button.

"You of all people know my love for Claude is real. I can't say, however, that this isn't a legit item in the top ten of my list of things to do before I die."

"Well, I can't argue with that, can I?" he tells her good-naturedly, getting into a ready stance that Darcy tries to mimic.  
  
"Nope! But hey, maybe you can tone back your speed about a thousand notches for me? I've got short legs and am definitely not wearing Balboa-appropriate shoes." He considers it for a moment before taking off, calling back to her as he goes.

"Where's the fun in that?!"

Darcy thinks it's a crying shame the history books never give the man any credit for being such an absolute troll.  
  
  
  
  
_**v.**_  [(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478820)  
  
Christmas Eve is just under a week away when Darcy finally finds herself over halfway through her massive agenda, almost complete thanks to taking an early start for the first time, oh, _ever_. Sure, Tony had been hassling her profusely about putting up lights, garland, and tinsel while the calendar still hung on November, but she's got so much to get done, it was only wise to begin as soon as possible. Plus, she enjoys making his eye twitch. Does that outdo any good she's done throughout and year and put her on the naughty list? Possibly. Is it worth it? Survey says yes.

With the final countdown now getting closer, and her to-do's not going to complete themselves, it's been days upon days of running herself ragged in an attempt to make sure all the last minute preparations for the holiday are met, from shopping for the perfect gifts for both her Avenger and Lewis families, to making a landfill's worth of sugar cookies covered in an obscene amount of frosting. And _Sweet Yukon Cornelius!_ , dare she forget the decorating. Covering every possible area of her home and the common rooms of the tower with those cute clay villages, handmade snowflakes, and mistletoe was a huge task in and of itself before she undertook doing Steve and Bucky's place too. The old geezers actually had the audacity to tell her that they were 'too busy,' only bothering to put up the Charlie Brown-est tree she's ever laid eyes on, and two sad stockings. It's a travesty until Darcy walks in, transforming the place with things like vanilla spice candles, hanging holly, old-timey nutcracker statues, and a magnificent pine from a lot a few blocks over that stands taller than she is. It's a ton of hustle and bustle, as usual, but Darcy doesn't complain. Nothing about it even feels like a chore. Besides, it's what Christmas is about.

Thor is severing as her right hand in his downtime, which works out great for the company and any heavy lifting, but she obviously should have been a little clearer about the size of the standard gingerbread house (he looks so sad when he opens the box she gives him), and he's begun to clean her out of candy canes, leaving her to add another bullet to her reminders to pick up more the next time she goes out. Even still, she's taught him how to string popcorn and dried cranberries for the twenty various trees on site, and he helps her put cotton fluff, mimicking the snow outside, in all the high and hard to reach places, which not only saves her a ton of time, but is also extremely enjoyable. Though, more than anything, she's grateful for the help to get through the wrapping present bonanza happening in her living room.

It's a tedious task, but after a couple demonstrations, Thor is matching her speed and pretty arrangements before he moves from his place to take a seat on the armchair behind her, running his hands lightly through her hair. Darcy moves to look at him, wondering where the sudden contact came from, but he faces her back around with a gentle turn of her head.  
  
"You hair is falling out of it's tie. Allow me to do one better."  
  
He gets no complaints from Darcy. Her hair is a certified mess, and in the fury of slapping bows and name tags on the various boxes she's got strewn about the floor, her ponytail is barely hanging on. While he works diligently at her back, Scrooged plays on the television in front of them (her favorite that needs to be watched at least three times every Christmas season), and she busies herself tissue papering and bagging up a bottle of one of Natasha favorite perfumes that stopped being manufactured decades ago, marking it with a simple _'Love, Santa.'  
_

The big guy makes relatively quick work of the task, faster than she can complete any style that's not a disheveled bun, and when she takes a peek in the mosaic-tiled mirror on her wall nearby, she's in awe at the intricacy laying down the back of her sweater.  
  
" _Dude!_ You've got skill!"

"I'm glad you approve," he smiles, pleased. "It is an Asgardian braid bestowed upon only the fiercest warriors. My mother wore it often."

"It's beautiful! Thank you for making an exception for me," she laughs.

"There is no exception, Lady Darcy," Thor tells her kindly. "You know this."  
  
"I think you give me too much credit, buddy."

"Or perhaps you don't give yourself enough?"

"Damn. In for the kill, huh?" Thor gives her a grin that radiates throughout the room, but she stops him from getting out of his seat, and hops behind his chair, letting her fingers run over his scalp just as he had done to her. "Don't you think you're escaping so easily. I deserve a turn, it's only fair."  
  
It's not the best side-Dutch she's ever made, but the Odinson makes anything look good and wears it the rest of the day with pride.  
  
  
  
  
_**vi.**_[(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478862)  
  
December 25th makes its appearance on a Monday, leaving Darcy so jazzed that she has JARVIS help her wake everyone up at six o'clock sharp with Jingle Bells playing on a loop over the intercom system, and an announcement for each of them to meet her in the common area ASAP to partake in presents, coffee, and pastries. She's always been one for sleeping in - ask anybody - but this is the one day that she consistently and willing makes an exception for, even after staying up well past midnight to finish her baking. If anything, she thought she was being rather generous in letting it slide so far past five, seeing as she needs to find time to cook up a bit of breakfast later, prepare dinner in the evening, and still fit in watching Home Alone, Die Hard ( _'you guys can all kiss my butt, it is a bonafide Christmas movie!'_ ) and Elf before the day is over.

It takes a good forty-five minutes for them to come trickling in, but her whole crew does eventually show up in various states of dress, planting themselves around the room that's sparkling with hundreds of multi-colored lights on a tree that just about touches the ceiling. It's a wonderful sight to see everyone together with no pressing, earth-shattering concerns, and Darcy can't help herself from taking a good million pictures of them all to hang onto the moment, giving everyone their stockings as she goes. Each is bursting with candies, homemade cookies, and other various neat, little items she's seen over the months and bought because they reminded her of someone. A Washington Wizards bottle opener for Sam, planetary shot glasses for Jane - just tiny pre-presants, really. Like an appetizer to their actual gifts, she tells them.

Stark is the last to arrive, tossing Indy a giant piece apple crumb cake she prepared the night before when he starts to pick at the snack setup she's made, but when he takes one look at the festive ensemble Darcy's wearing, straight down to the holiday wiener dog socks, he calls her out for being an eyesore over his double-shot espresso.  
  
"Whatever you've got going on there is hurting my brain, kid. Go change or Christmas is cancelled." She sticks her tongue out at him, queues up some tunes for a bit of background noise, and makes her way around to Bruce at the corner of the breakfast bar to put a Santa hat on his head.

"Lewis tradition dictates that he who wears the hat has to hand out the gifts," she tells him with a pat. Giving her a smirk, Banner sets his tea aside and takes a quick bite of almond cranberry loaf before doing as he's told.  
  
Some of her friends have proved to be ridiculously difficult to shop for - hell, Tony and Pepper are the power couple who literally have everything - but overall, she thinks she did an excellent job finding the right thing for each of them. Likewise, she's beyond thankful that she's got a group of people in her life seem to know her so well. With a limited edition Comic Con exclusive vinyl figurine that Clint gives her of her favorite character from Dog Cops (only 50 made!), and a lovely framed drawing of her 'conquering science' from Steve that he did himself, her heart is already full and buzzing, but when she opens up two packages from Barnes, nearly wrapped in red and green paper and topped with gold bows, she thinks she might legitimately burst. He promises that the new taser, holster included, is guaranteed to put down a supersoldier for a good three minutes (a proclamation that Rogers vouches for), and the 'outta my way losers' mug with a cartoon cat on a skateboard gives her a huge laugh. It's also filled with her favorite Ghirardelli chocolates, so even better.  
  
For usually trying to play the snarky recluse card, the gifts Bucky gives her are delightfully thoughtful. More importantly, Darcy is ecstatic to see that when he opens the complete collection of hardback Harry Potter books she got for him, that he seems to feel the same. He can try and dispute it as much as he wants, but contrary to popular belief, the sarge is actually a tremendous nerd, geeking out over things like How It's Made, Through the Wormhole, and the magazine subscriptions of National Geographic and Popular Mechanics that come to the tower every month. It's actually super sweet, only further solidifying his marshmallow status, and totally warms her heart in way she doesn't let her mind think too much on.

He's still looking at the books, skimming over the art and back descriptions when Darcy is in the middle of unwrapping what turns out to be the cutest lightning bolt hair pins from Thor, but she and Barnes make eye contact with equal smiles. She's happy to see him so pleased and categorizes it as a monumental victory, and if he's at all put off by her writing when he looks inside of the first front cover, he doesn't mention it.  
  
_For Bucky, my fellow Hufflepuff._  
_In the wise words of JK Rowling, 'happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.'_  
_Merry Christmas!_  
_~ Darcy xoxo_  
  
  
  
  
**_vii._**[(++)](https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=225478926) **  
**

Darcy takes an extra long lunch break on a mid-morning Wednesday, end of the month quickly approaching, after accidentally interrupting Happy trying to corner Tony in his shop about some suspicious looking charges coming out of the company's R&D department that flew up a red flag during the latest batch of expense reports. When Stark insists that he's got no idea where the 'pocket change' of $75,000 tracking back to his glorified 3D printer went, Happy starts to round up the rest of the available Avengers in an attempt to 'smoke out the traitor,' while Darcy speed walks straight out of there for what will likely have to be her last mission.  
  
In her defense, she honestly thought that apart from the actual machine itself, 3D printing was a rather inexpensive route to take on projects these days, and was becoming the way of the future accordingly. She had read a ton about it online, as well as in a few journals that have been littered throughout the labs, and everybody seemed to be in almost unanimous agreement that in terms of cost, labor, and structural integrity, it was changing the manufacturing game with good reason. Regardless, Darcy is kicking herself for not remembering Iron Man doesn't know how to do anything on the cheap, and for not having the willpower to leave well enough alone.  
  
It's barely noon when Steve, Bucky, and Tony find her at the zoo, Ruth from the customer relations desk letting her know her friends have come looking for her. The elderly woman is positively giddy at their arrival, and Darcy doesn't bother to prolong the inevitable any longer, meeting the men outside of the employee's only area by the aviary. Gawking on their pass, several zookeepers leave ahead of her to give the group some privacy, as she gathers her courage and firmly shuts the door behind her, knowing full well it still won't be enough to hide her extracurricular activities.

"Oh. Hey there, guys," Darcy says, mustering up a smile. "What brings you out to Queens on this fine day?"

"Could ask you the same thing, pipsqueak," Tony eyes her, drawing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. "Something you wanna share with the class?"

"Darcy, are you being blackmailed or something? What's going on?" Steve asks, concerned. She strangles out a whine but tries to be mature for once in her life and face the thing head on.  
  
"What? No! Ugh, how did you trace this back to me so fast? Nevermind, living with spies is the worst." she laments. "I thought using an alias would throw you off for sure." Barnes manages a snort and crosses his arms over his chest, while a snowy owl hoots at them from a nearby tree branch above.  
  
"Nobody but you would ever use the name of an X-Files character to sign off on paperwork."

"Okay, one, I am incredibly proud that you recognized that," she tells him honestly before throwing her hands in the air. "But yeah, whatever, you got me. The jig is up."

"What's going on here, Lewis?" Tony prompts again, more serious. "Why are you using my toys and why all the secrecy?" Darcy groans and trudges back to her current workspace, letting them inside as she attempts to explain herself.  
  
"I didn't know it was going rack up such a price tag, I swear. I just wanted to help," she says. Bringing them to a small fenced-in table, she introduces a small Black-bellied Whistling-Duck, waddling back and forth on what is clearly a brand new, red prosthetic. "This is Bernard. I just finished the last touches on fitting him for a new flipper. He was born with a defect and walking has been pretty painful for him, but I finally worked out all the kinks on the printer and now he's basically good as new." Steve's eyes soften immediately, relief noticeably washing over his whole body.  
  
"You made a flipper.. for a duck?.. with my SI 3D-RepliDock?" Tony gets out.  
  
"Well.. yeah. Among other things." Bucky, standing rigidly next to her, raises an eyebrow at that. Darcy fesses up to everything, cracking open her laptop on the desk in the corner to show them blueprints and photos of her previous undertakings at Stark's expense. She can feel the heat of embarrassment on her face but rolls with it.  
  
"Fifteen or so dogs in the city that were missing limbs, a couple loggerhead sea turtles rehabilitating in Florida, a retired circus elephant at a sanctuary in Tennessee of all places," she explains, going down the list. "I was in the middle of working on a new fin for a beluga whale at an aquarium in Connecticut too. A little tougher, I admit, but she got hit by the propeller of a shipping freighter in the Baltic and has been struggling ever since. Her name is Helga, she's adorable."  
  
"You made all these yourself?" Steve questions, examining the pictures. Darcy shrugs, letting the proverbial chips fall where they may, and moves over to feed Bernard a small handful of peas that he happily accepts.  
  
"'Made' is kind of a strong word. I mean, I uploaded each of the specifications and batches of scans as needed, but the program virtually does everything else. I think most of my time has been spent sitting around waiting for them to finish." The trio is quiet as they discern what's in front of them, while the newly equipped duck nuzzles himself against Darcy's hands with the sweetest of quacks. "Jane accidentally got the reject forms requesting charitable donations from you in a batch of papers in her mailbox awhile back," she tells Tony, trying to fill the silence. "Granted they were all pretty hilarious - some dude in Nebraska asking for two million dollars to expand his illegal moonshine business, that sort of thing. But a kid in Maryland sent a picture of his three-legged pet goat, asking for help, so I brainstormed and gave it shot. Everything just snowballed from there." Stark looks more shocked than displeased at the entire turn of events, and is thoroughly inspecting her handiwork like he's actually interested, when she tries her best to give him sincere apology for the whole costly fiasco. "Tony, I'm really so sorry about this. I obviously got carried away and cannot be trusted when it comes to cute animals," she says, distraught. "I promise I won't ever touch your stuff again without explicitly stating my intentions, verbally and in essay form, and I'll hereby be paying you back in all the home-made triple fudge brownies you can eat for the foreseeable future-"  
  
Stark waves off whatever else she was planning to say and moves to her computer screen, searching through her digital prototypes. Bernard flaps his wings in disappointment at the man's disappearance and his own lack of more veggies.  
  
"I think you might be onto something here," he says with a hint of delight. "Color me impressed, DL."

"Onto something?" she repeats. The words are difficult to process. "You're.. not upset?"  
  
"It's not exactly on the level of Robocop over here," he motions toward Barnes, "but you got skill. Managed to compensate for weight distribution, flexibility - you've done some good work."  
  
"Real good work, Darce." Steve smiles with an encouraging squeeze to her shoulder. "Right, Buck?"

"... yeah... Yeah, it's - they're.. nicely done."  
  
_Well, damn._  
  
After a lengthy goodbye to her feathered friend and many promises that she'll come visit again soon, she heads back to the tower with the guys where Tony immediately steals her from Jane for the rest of the day, spending it questioning her about what type of problems she has run into with Helga, and collaborating on some possible fixes. When they finally break for the evening and Darcy heads back to her apartment, she's surprised to see Bucky pacing outside her door, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, looking conflicted as ever.

"I don't know about you, but this day has mentally kicked my butt," she says, coming down the hall with an over dramatic sigh. "I was thinking about ordering Chinese and sneaking some of Mama Wilson's carrot cake outta Sam's fridge. I could use your expert skills. You in?" Barnes doesn't balk at her presence, but he doesn't say a word, jaw tense as he steps forward to meet her. The more she takes in the look on his face, the more worried she becomes, hoping that her part in the events of the day didn't make him upset or uncomfortable. Truth be told, he was somewhat of an inspiration. "Hey, you okay, Bucko?" Darcy gets no reply except a deep breath while he runs a hand anxiously through his hair pulled back with a tie at the base of his neck, but she gives him a small, supportive smile anyhow. "Whatever it is, it's nothing that a little dessert can't fix."

"You're something else, you know that?" he finally says. Darcy freezes entirely. There's something there, but she can't tell if it's appreciation, agitation, or something worse, and doesn't have the slightest clue how to move forward.

"Um. Could I have some context to go with that statement, please?" Barnes huffs and looks like he's got himself in battle mode, but before she knows what's what, he's got her crowded against the nearest wall with a metal arm on her waist, while the other rests on her cheek, reeling her in closer.

"I'll give you _context_."


End file.
